


you be the moon (i'll be the earth)

by stribird (timidGoddess)



Series: Same-Age Robins AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Same Age, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bat Family, Bats in Gotham have a bad habit of collecting people in general, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Codependency, Dick Grayson gets the support system he deserves, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson's Unrelenting Stubbornness™, Dick has Issues™ no one is remotely sure how to deal with any of these issues, Families of Choice, Fluff and Humor, Grossly self-indulgent, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Obligatory Jane Austen References, Other, POV Third Person Limited, Private Investigator Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Resolved Sexual Tension, Timeline What Timeline, the same age robin au no one asked for or wanted but they're getting anyways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timidGoddess/pseuds/stribird
Summary: Gotham has twin birds that soar her skies, one to flitter about and distract, the other to misdirect and attack. The Bat calls them both ‘Robin’.orThe AU wherein Batman having two Robins is a staple of a stable timeline and Dick Grayson gets an impulse control in form of a Crime Alley mutt.





	1. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson loses one family and patchworks together a brand new one of his own choosing to fill the aching void left behind. In the middle of this, he finds a stray puppy in an alleyway one night and decides to drag it home with him by the scruff.

♪

 

_Robins are songbirds, luck and joy follows their wings._

Dick’s mother always used to say that robins bring with them signs of Spring and better things to come: _“You’re my little Robin,”_ she’d whisper, on the nights when Dick lay buried in a sea of handmade quilts too antsy to sleep, _“you’ll bring happiness to everyone you perch on.”_

Dick holds onto the memory like a cherished treasure trove, he doesn’t have too many memories of those happy times left, so, he keeps the ones he does remember tucked close near a special part of his soul. It’s right next to his father’s calming scent of cologne from the old country, and the elated feeling he’d have in his chest way up high on that trapeze whenever his mother’s sure hold would catch his forearms without falter or slip.

_We’re always here for you, we’ll always catch you. You’re always safe to fly with us, little Robin.  
_

But Dick made a mistake. He’d forgotten all about catching them in turn, he let them _fall._

(--That mistake costs him everything, his parents, the circus, Mr. Haley’s warm hugs, and the sure feeling of Zitka’s trunk around his waist reeling Dick in close and safe.)

Within a whirlwind of a precious split second decision--because of Dick's choice, to brush it off--something _awful_ happens. Something awful happens that Dick could’ve prevented by just speaking up a little _louder,_  by making just a little more noise. And because of it, Dick is ripped far, far away from the circus and everything and everyone he loves. Mr. Wayne’s eyes are dark and sad with he whisks him away--but his hands are big and warm. Dick trusts him.

But even then, all he can do that very night after Mr. Wayne brings him home, wings bound and grounded as Dick feels, is miserably curl up in those unfamiliar too stiff, too soft, bed sheets.--He misses _Daj’s_ homey patchwork quilts, he was only able to bring one along with him, her scent is fading. The room is bigger than their tiny little homey trailer, Dick doesn’t like it much. If he were braver, he’d ask Mr. Wayne to give him a smaller one.

(He sings happy tunes, familiar lullabies, curled up in those wrong smelling bed sheets because even locked in a cage a robin can still sing--that’s what mother always said.)

At first, Dick anxiously wanders empty halls and silent corridors, anxious because he’s used to the _noise_ , navigates awkward dinners with too little people or no people at all when he’s used to group-dinners with dozens; his new home _after_ is uncomfortably quiet, uncomfortably lonely.

But still, he gains Bruce and Alfred--and that means something to Dick, he isn’t sure what. Not yet.

The two of them are lonely too, though, he knows. Dick is an observant child. It’s in the way Alfred’s fingers will sometimes pleasantly pat his head without so much as a backward glance, or the way Bruce will untense and his sporty tone will get just a little deeper; a much different tone than what Dick’s heard him use with the police and those slimy people he’s seen Bruce chatting with at galas. His voice gets lower and warmer when Bruce is being genuine, it reminds him of his _Dat._ Even after Zucco dies, from a heart attack of all things, under his heel. (--A lesson learned. ‘Justice not vengeance.’) Dick knows he can’t just… _leave_ , Bruce and Alfred are still both so, very lonely.

Dick knows someone would certainly adopt him, he’s charismatic, pretty, blue-eyed--he can pass for a tan, golden-toned 'Mediterranean' for people too ignorant to ask. His odd-mishmash accent will likely fade by the time he hit high school, into something less obvious and passably American the longer he stays away from Haley’s. Dick knows how it goes, for children like him--adoption, or juvie. Really his chances would probably be just as good with a coin toss. People preferred babies after all. Dick was going to be ten next year.

But, when Batman takes him back to the manor that night, and softly tells him that it’s _okay to_ hurt, that it’s okay for things to never stop hurting, even after justice is served. Dick decides he likes this little patchwork family he’s accidentally stumbled into just fine.

By the time Bruce takes him under his wing--for real this time, no secrets, capes, masks, and all--Dick has already made a promise to himself. Because he loves Bruce, he loves Alfred, and he never wants to watch anyone he loves fall again.

_I’ll always catch them, I’ll always be there for them. I’ll fly._

***

Bruce is a lot of things, he’s ‘boss’ when Dick is Robin, putting on the mask of a boy who’s all cocky grins and playful flips--a distraction, a traffic light, someone to watch Batman’s back, make sure he’s there to catch him when he falls. He’s affectionately dubbed ‘B’ when he’ll nudge Robin under his cloak during one of Gotham’s nasty acid showers when they’re perched on a rooftop for a stakeout.

The name ‘Dad’ doesn’t come along until a few years later, when Dick finds he’s suddenly eleven, sitting at the small dining table in the kitchen as he eagerly devours Alfred’s french toast. He doesn’t stop until, there’s suddenly a hand combing back through his hair and a soft, upturn of the lips from a familiar face as Dick swallows down his breakfast and glances up, it comes with a ‘morning chum’ and a sluggish exhale of a yawn, before the hand leaves his locks.

“Morning, D…” Dick blinks once, then twice, he mentally turns the aborted title over in his head and meets Bruce’s eyes. They’re softened around the edges like they are every time he catches at Dick doing something mundane and _normal_ as of late, like homework, or chirping away about the school, or occasionally a case he’s taken the lead on. It reminds him of--

“Morning, Dad!”

The response feels right, even if the hurt is still there--it never stops hurting, his parents still fell, _Dat_ is still never going to catch him again or tell him stories of his grandparents or do that silly thing where he’ll twirl his mustache, but... Dick keeps on saying it. B calls him ‘son’ all the time anyway, it’s only fair.

And if the phrase sometimes catches Bruce unawares enough to make him stumble over flat ground and it also makes Alfred beam the warmest of smiles… well, Dick isn’t complaining about that either.

***  
Some days are lonely enough to make him _ache,_  sometimes Dick misses the circus, and the lights and the noise. Because the manor is just so... quiet, even the chirp of the songbirds among the trees seems subdued, like they’re in the same kind of mourning as the rest of the manor.

Dick spends a lot of time up in the trees. Even if the songs of the birds whisper sadness, it’s still far less lonely than climbing up on the empty manor roofs and practicing his balance.

***

 

The kids at school either have heard the rumors and whisper, or ignore the parts of him they don’t know how to deal with and just happily allow Dick’s charismatic orbit to suck them in. Dick can’t exactly fault them for it, most of the kids at Gotham Academy Middle grew up either in four-story suburban manors, or ‘normal’ neighborhoods that don’t pack up and leave to go to the next audience.

But Dick is a very good actor. He plays down his strange accent, he slots into the space that was neatly gouged out for him, even if he doesn’t quite fit. He doesn’t speak or mention his father’s mother tongue. He tells the happy stories about the circus and leaves out the things that keep him up late at night, like the frantic gaze of his mother as she felt the ropes slack, or the desperate way his father tried to toss his mother _up_ one last time in hopes that she’d catch Dick’s outstretched hands.

Dick doesn’t talk about the bad things, it makes people too uncomfortable to keep trying. 

They can’t relate the way Bruce does. So, instead, he gets in the habit of talking about the good things, even falling into the habit around the manor, too. Bruce wrinkles his eyebrows a little more but doesn’t mention it; Dick feels grateful and conflicted.

One day, out of the blue, when Dick’s elated and buzzing with coiled energy after a particularly freeing patrol, Alfred suggests he sees a therapist offhandedly, Dick just inclines his head with a puzzled grin that goes just a little thinner, a bit more closed lipped.

“Why?”

Alfred looks so world-weary right then, just so _sad_ , his shoulders slump and he doesn’t even say another word after that. Dick can’t resist the urge to step forward to hug the old man around his middle tight. “...You worry too much Alfie. I’m fine, see? I’m smiling.” Boney, speckled fingers knot tightly in his cape, Dick tucks his face into a suit jacket that smells of baked bread and cinnamon.

“That is _exactly_ what worries me, my boy.” Dick doesn’t allow his fingers to tremble, but Alfred’s arms hug him in closer anyway. Nothing escapes Alfred.

***

_Master Richard, are you happy?_

_Don’t I look happy?_

***

Things start to change when Dick meets Barbara. She’s pretty and wild with red hair that reminds him of raspberries. She has a self-assured smile and a spunky glint in her aquamarine eyes. Dick decides he _loves_ Barbara. He pesters B about her constantly, because Barbara is gorgeous, brave, and stubborn--she flies free and joyful as a fledgling sparrow, she pecks back like one, fights viciously like one.

But there are many dangerous things in Gotham. And ‘brave’ and ‘stubborn’ are _very_ dangerous things to be in the Gotham that swallowed Dick’s parents, in the Gotham swallowed _Bruce’s parents_ , in the Gotham that is trying to swallow Barbara’s father every day he spends in service as the GCPD Commissioner.

Either way, ice still unfurls, sharp and painful, in Dick’s veins the night her line snaps.

Batman hasn’t so much as left the platform before Robin is off like a shot, there’s a fine trimmer in his hands when he catches her around the waist in an iron grip. She’s heavier than he is, she’s older than him by three years, but Dick doesn’t so much as falter until they make it back on solid ground, on a nearby rooftop. He manages a quip and a clever smile, as he releases her and chatters away to distract from the trimmer that still hasn’t left his fingers. His eyes are wide behind his lenses, he stands tense, too still--because Dick is _never_ still.

If Bab’s notices she doesn’t mention it, too busy trying to catch her own breath.

He doesn’t stop talking until Batman’s form lands down beside him. (Good. Barbara was just starting to notice the waver in his voice.) A part of Robin is relieved when a familiar cape of kevlar and safety sweeps itself over his shoulders. He’s swiftly hidden from sight as B growls and grumps above him, looming over Barbara with all the anxious hostility of a ruffled Lioness who’s cubs have left the den too early.

After that night, Batman takes on Batgirl too. Dick finds he loves flying with Babs, she’s playful and mischievous in comparison to Batman’s no-nonsense demeanor. Patrol is fun and freeing but in a different way now, he finally has someone to bounce puns and jokes off of.

Babs goes to Gotham Academy--she’s in the high school section, but that’s okay. Middle schoolers and high schoolers share a lunch period. One day, tired of pretending and so very tired of not being _himself_ , he takes a seat at her table. And suddenly, just like that with just a word of encouragement from Babs and a friendly arm thrown over Dick’s shoulders, her library club friends become _his_ library club friends and school becomes just a little more fun. He’s still the youngest one there, so, the upperclassmen decide to ‘adopt’ the little twelve-year-old circus brat. Not that Dick’s sure what the point behind that is. But he has people to sit with at lunch who understand his advanced math jargon at least better than his peers do, so, Dick is happy.

Babs comes by the manor now, too, Bruce starts inviting the Commissioner to galas, and eventually, Gordon starts bringing Barbara along too. Dick now has someone to giggle and drink punch with under tables and people-watch the overly-extravagant upper crust of Gotham.

For a while, it's nice, things don’t feel as somber around the manor anymore. Bruce stops startling when Dick calls him ‘dad’, even when he does it out of the blue. Dick feels less negative, his heart bleeds--bleeds for Bruce, bleeds for Alfred, bleeds for _Barbara_ \--he needs them. And because Dick’s never been one for loneliness, because he can't distance himself they way Bruce does, he lets them in.

(It scares Dick, late at night when it's quiet and there's nothing to pull him out of his own head. Realizing how much he _needed_ to be there to catch someone other than Bruce or Alfred, realizing that Barbara had whittled her way into his ‘family’ without even trying at all.)

***  
  
_The decision is yours alone, Master Richard._

_You could very well walk away from this crusade and spend your life in happier pursuits._

***

Bruce and Oliver _hate_ each other, but Dick finds he likes Speedy; lionhearted, bull-headed, firecracker Roy Harper, he finds he likes just fine. Almost too easily, Dick slots the Arrow safely and neatly into that ‘his’ category he’s started to slowly cultivate with Bruce, Alfie, Babs and, tentatively, that teeny soft-spoken Drake boy with the clever eyes he’ll sometimes chatter with at galas when his parents bring him along. The manor suddenly seems brighter as he texts and skypes Roy in Star City.

Babs is his sparrow, Roy is his arrowhead. Dick firmly decides he won’t let either of them fall.

 

And soon enough, that number of people Dick has to remember to catch keeps growing and growing. Wally comes barreling into Dick’s life from Central City like a dive-bombing hummingbird, all smiles and territorial like nothing else, butting heads with Roy and swinging a boisterous arm around Dick’s shoulders in that same breath. The trio of them together are a collective menace, and when Garth comes along Dick finds he’s like a much-needed summer shower--sensible, logical, calming. Him and Roy also buttheads spectacularly _,_ though, it all makes Dick giggle a bit.

(He starts to wonder if maybe his Arrowhead’s a little bit territorial about what’s 'his' too.)

Soon after that, however, Donna comes along and it’s like _whoa_.

Something snaps immediately into place in a way Dick’s never felt before. It’s different from when he met Babs or Roy. Donna is the sister he never had, a comrade-in-arms who only took a meeting of gazes and a vague head twitch in an equally vague direction to know where he needs her to be _when_ he needs her, his twin star, _his._ And by the elated look in her eyes, the first time she ducks and Dick springboards over her shoulders without pause or second thought in the heat of battle, weaving seamlessly inwards to watch her back--he knows Donna must feel it too.

Later, after they’ve formed the Teen Titans officially and they have their own Bat-approved base, hotline and all, Donna’s fitted soundly against his thigh as Dick braids and re-braids her ponytail with restless fingers. She is sharpening a dagger.

Roy asks out of the blue if they’re dating--Wally and Garth both go rigid in response and shoot the archer twin looks of panicked horror. Across the room, Garth mutters an insult that sounds like it’s berating Roy’s lack of ‘tact’. Dick just blinks in bare confusion, Donna’s left eyebrow arches dubiously.

“Dick would be a _terrible_ boyfriend for me. He’s way too overprotective. He’s better as my brother anywho-- easier to brush off his infuriating mother-henning that way.”

With those words, Donna goes right back to sharpening her dagger, and Dick goes back to combing his fingers through her hair so he can restart the braid again, there's nothing to add. Donna's always good with words, better than him sometimes, even. And that’s the end of that.

(His Star, his Arrowhead, his Angelfish, his Speedster--none of them are birds, not really, but that’s okay. Dick won’t let them fall either.)

***  
  
_...Or I could do some good._

 _Someone's gotta help him. It may as well be_ **me.  
**

***

It’s 2 o'clock am on a Friday ‘morning’, March 21st, ironically, the first day of Spring when Robin spots a scruffy Gotham Crime Alley pup prying the wheels off the boss’s Batmobile like nobody's business. For a while, he just perches above on the fire escape, kicking bare slender legs idly as he just stares and stares-- Bruce had told him to stay put, Dick had popped down to the convenience store for donuts. He’s turning fourteen today, after all, Dick had thought he was allotted to a few sweet treats, thank you very much.

When he got back from his food run, however, someone new was waiting for him.

The takeout bag is still warm in his lap, he’s got six more glazed donuts to burn through waiting for B’s interrogation to finish. The pup prys free wheel number three and gets to work on the caps with a screwdriver, out of all the things Robin was expecting to see on the streets today, auto theft wasn’t exactly at the top of his priority list, but less to the _Batmobile._ \--Yeesh, talk about having nerves of titanium.

Dick doesn’t realize he’s smiling hard enough for his cheeks to ache until the boy is moving onto the fourth and final tire, he’s leaned forward far enough that he may as well be asking for a strong gust of wind to make him lose his footing. Just as the boy gets to work on prying away at the fourth and final hubcap, Dick lets his weight go completely, flipping down the fire escape with nary a misstep.

“Wow. This is some birthday present,” Dick comments gamely, there’s a twinkle of mirth in his eyes as he plucks another donut out of his bag and rips off a piece of glazed pastry, swallowing it down. “You know, I was hoping for a quiet night but look at that, I met a new friend instead.”

The boy’s back goes rigid, then slowly, warily his grip tightens on the tire iron, “I ain’t your friend, kid.”

“Well, I like your face, so I think that’s enough substance for me to wanna get to know you.” Dick leans forward, grinning with all teeth as the boy grimaces and steps back a few paces, his hands around the tire iron are unsteady now.

“Listen, kid--Wonderboy,”

“Boy wonder.” Dick chimes in.

“ _Whatever._ Boy Hostage, Boy Dumbass, don’t matter to me none.” A giggle bubbles its way past Dick’s lips, he _really_ likes this one. “If the Bat didn’t want his tires stolen he shouldn’a parked his piece of armored junk in Crime Alley--what kinda vigilante with the money to make bat-shaped boomerangs don’t even think ta’ put security alarms on his car.”

This keeps on getting better and better, Dick thinks he might love this kid.

“Wow. Authentic accent you’ve got there.”

The boy grimaces baring his teeth, he indeed reminds Dick of a snarling puppy, even though standing he’s got a good five or six inches over him. “Aw, get the fuck on will ya? Some of us needa eat ‘round here. These hubcaps alone‘ll put me up for a good several months. --An’ I talk just fine.”

“Not all’a us can be uptowners, yeah?”

With that the alley kid shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, he’s got on an oversized bomber and high water jeans, his sneakers are scuffed up to high heaven--if Dick were to guess he’d suppose they were probably red instead of maroon at some point. As he watches those pale cheeks redden slowly but surely the longer the silence stretches on, Dick decides to take pity on him.

“... You keep calling me 'kid'. Aren’t _you_ a kid yourself?”

“Gonna be fourteen in five months.” Dick’s grin gets a little more crooked at that, far too smug.

“Ooh. I’m older than you then.” He puffs out his chest, stands a little straighter.

“Aw _cockshit_ , no way, you’re like--eleven!”

Dick’s mouth drops open, seeming genuinely offended for a moment as his eyes snap upwards to glare at the other boy. “Am not... wait. Is _that_ why you wouldn't attack me with that obvious tire iron you think I don’t see you considering?” the kid squawks, flushing awkwardly, “Because you think I'm _eleven_? I’m just waiting for my growth spurt to hit, that’s all! Look at my face, does my face _look_ eleven to you?”

“Can’t even _see_ half your face, Einstein," the boy starts, defensively, "and whaddya doin’ asking some criminal to take a closer look at your face anywho? Don’t you Bats need'a stay anonymous for good reason?"

“Well," Dick mocks an innocent thoughtful look for a moment before he leers, leaning into the other's personal space, " _maybe_ I'm just looking for an excuse to take a closer look at _your_ face.”

The boy’s cheeks promptly light up red, it makes Dick's chest do something weird. “Christ 'n a shitter you talk _way_ too much.”

“It’s called having social charisma.” And then Dick proceeds to stick out his tongue because he is a very mature young adult, the boy growls something rude that Dick allows to roll off his back like shower water. “And what’s that ‘criminal’ thing you’re on about? Something I should know?” Dick slides back into Robin easily, keeps his voice neutral and perky, though he takes a bit to double check to make sure the boy wasn’t wearing any prominent gang colors. That would suck. It’d be even harder to convince B that this boy’s a winner if he turns out to be an active gang member.

The boy shoots him a funny look, “... You legit just watched me try to steal the tires off the Bat’s ride.”

“Ehh, you probably need them more than he does,” Dick says, playful smile still in place as he circles the alley brat, movements slick and balanced as one of Ms. Selina’s cats. “So, about your name--?”

The boy stiffens instantly, “The fuck you need my name for, huh? You tryin’ to make something outta this?”

“No _pe_.” Dick says, popping the ‘p’ carelessly. “I just can’t very well keep on calling you ‘pup’ in my head, that’s all.”

That gets him an offended look, “I’m taller than you.”

“And?”

“And, I’m a _shrimp_.”

…At least he’s self-aware.

“I’m shorter than a lot of things. Like the average-year-old St. Bernard puppy, and _you_ apparently--just to name two. Actually, you kind of remind me of one what’s your point?” There’s a loaded silence between them as those distrustful seafoam blue eyes squint hard as if trying to see right past Dick’s mask. It’s like the boy’s already waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Dick hasn’t even decided what to do with the weird fuzzy, warm feeling perpetuating his chest yet.

“... I’m not a St, Bernard,” the boy says finally with a faint scoff, cheeks coloring again as he takes a sudden interest in the far alley wall, “I’m more of a Pit...”

Dick’s grin brightens so much his cheeks ache. _An olive branch._ He stops circling and leans in close, “A badly behaved one at that, sucks to be you if you were trying to sound tough, Pitbulls are supposed to be sweethearts.”  
  
_"All_ dogs are sweethearts. I’d prefer ‘em to people any day. I’m people, so I’m obviously not a sweetheart. Those don’t last too long on Gotham’s streets.” The boy shrugs.

Dick gets distracted. He internally maps out a developing jawline, broad shoulders far different from his own--the hints of malnourishment are concerning but even Dick can tell the kid’s gonna grow up to be a bruiser if malnourishment hasn't stunted him too badly yet. Maybe as big as Bruce if the awkward size of those hands and feet are anything to go by…

“...--Uh. You still with me?” Asks a somewhat wary voice that has Dick flinching out of his musings.

“Yeah. Totally. Just,” Dick pauses, “You still haven’t told me your name yet.”

“Neither have you,” the other answers smartly, making Dick pout.

“Those are the words of someone who wants to be called ‘Pup’ for the rest of his natural life.”

“Call me that again, _Wonderboy--_ ”

***

The boy’s name turns out to be Jason. Dick thinks it’s a nice name. Much to Jason’s chagrin, however, even after two hours of chatting in that filthy lower Gotham alleyway Dick does _not_ stop calling him ‘pup’. Although at the sight of Dick's collection of warm glazed donuts, Jason does soften up a little, at least enough to sit down next to him on the alley pavement. As they share the frosted pastries, Dick pokes and prods information out of him in turn. ("What do you mean you live in a _box_." "I'm in between places right now--but I can go _back_ to it if you're gonna be elitist about it." "No, no, don't go--it's just...no one should live in boxes." "... Plenty of people don't have a choice 'round here.")

At around 4 am, B returns to his predictably chatty Robin sitting next to his decidedly _un-_ chatty company. Dick can see the exact moment the Bat realizes that his car is on cinder blocks. “ _Robin._ ” Batman’s voice is all Bruce right then--flat, tired, and terribly exasperated, it’s enough to have Dick perking his head up with a bright smile.

“B!”

Batman squints hard as Jason bristles and glares at him with about the same ferocity as a cornered animal. He clenches his grip around the tire iron in his left fist like a lifeline.

“What is… _this._ ”

“This is Jason. I've decided that I like him--I'm taking him home with me."

"He's a boy, not a _dog_ , Robin--"

"Of course not, he's my new friend!"

Jason swivels his gaze to stare at Dick, then back to Bruce warily, squinting in something like suspicion. “Wait, _what_ \--when the hell did I agree to be _friends_ with--”

Bruce crosses his arms warily, smoothly cutting the boy off, all his attention focused on Dick, “... We can't just steal him off the streets, Robin." He hesitates as if he thinks that if he gets a step closer he’s going to get bitten--just like an alley mutt, Dick notes not without a sense of humor. He can tell by B’s constipated expression that he’s stuck halfway between wanting to help it, and sort of wishing it was nowhere near his son.

"... Keeping this boy is simply out of the question, we don't even know where he _came_ from."

Dick eyes narrow, his expression grows defensive and stormy, "You kept _me._ " Dick says with purpose, B inclines his head, but Dick can spy the telltale surprised widening of his eyes, even beneath the cowl. B is well aware of Dick’s tendency to collect people at this point, in Dick’s opinion Bruce really doesn’t have room to talk, with the League and all the satellite teams the guy runs… Actually, in retrospect, Dick inheriting Batman’s bad habit of finding and keeping people was probably inevitable.

How'd the saying go, again: _Like father like son?_

"And besides B, I _like_ him." Dick presses and Bruce's shoulders drop in dismay.

"... I only left you alone for _four hours_. _How?_ "

"That was your first mistake."

“... What about Batgirl, isn't she enough?”

“Babs is different--”

“ _Names_.”

Dick crinkles his nose, then stubbornly insists, “She’s mine too and she's  _different_.”

“Wonder Girl?”

At this Dick fires back smartly, “ _Diana_?”

“Speedy.”

“Green Arrow.” Dick singsongs, a lopsided smile stretching his lips. “Your entire League, actually. Before you get started. Aren't they 'enough'? You keep taking on new ones every other week lately.”

Jason sort of looks like he wants to slink away and hide somewhere.

There’s a long beat of silence, B still looks righteously offended by that last comment implicating Ollie as being one of ‘his’ he looks ready to argue further before, suddenly, Dick brings it all home with another quiet, far more serious, _insisting_ this time: “ _You kept me_.” Jason tries to warily scoot away, Dick promptly grabs his collar and yanks him right back down next to him on the alley pavement, he does not break eye contact with Bruce.

“Dad...”

Bruce’s spine goes ramrod straight, as though just the sound of that word alone had flayed the skin off his back raw. His gauntleted hands give a minuscule twitch. Jason looks at Dick with a deer in headlights look that’s part ways confusion and other parts dawning horror.

“ _Please...?_ ”

.

.

.

“So, you ain't gonna, like. Take me out to the docks and shoot me Old Yeller style, right? Cause that’d be a shitty way to go.”

“For the last time, Jason, _Batman does not kill._ ”

“Not in _public,_ maybe _\--_ you _really_ expect me ta'believe that the Bat himself ain't capable of making the body of some punk-ass street orphan disappear who’s not even registered in the system? A street orphan who, may I remind you, tried to jack his tires no less than a few hours ago?"

“ _Yeesh._  Well, aren’t you just a bucket full of optimistic sunshine.”

***

_Always bear in mind that this is **his** crusade_ _, it need not be your life as well._

_I know._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there, i'm kinda new here, this is my first time writing stuff for DC!
> 
> so, i haven't written fanfiction since high school but then this ship and this fandom like. bludgeoned me over the head? it's been a while since i've written anything for fandom outside of joint rp! needless to say, I'm pretty nervous posting this haha. (i don't have a beta reader either oof)
> 
> Anyways, this is actually a pretty decent length? Like "oh no this au is 25k+ words and growing" levels of decent length, so i'm making it easy on myself and just cutting it into chunks while i'm ahead otherwise this will never probably get posted oops. I hope people at least got some enjoyment out of it so far! I'm on tumblr too, you might have seen my silly doodles for this AU if so (deepest apologies) hi! nice to meet you! I'm here on ao3 too! hmu
> 
> The quotes are mostly all from Robin Year I (even if we aren't super following that timeline but shhhh)
> 
> (ahhh also i hope i got the Romani right, I double checked the spelling as much as I could? do correct me if i made a mistake)


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick takes home an impulse control. Things are good for a while--until they aren't anymore

♫

Jason is something new. Dick is intrigued.

Dick already has the other boy wholly slated into his mental ‘mine’ category, even before Jason figures out their identities. When Jason is first dropped off at manor by CPS he’s cautious and tight bound as a bowstring. Dick doesn’t keep his distance, exactly, but he knows well enough that Jason's not comfortable with touch either.  So, in lieu, and maybe to distract himself and make sure he doesn’t slip up, he just spends time chattering away about nothing and everything at all in the other boy’s general vicinity. He only gets grunts and the ever occasional look of bemusement once in a while, granted, but sometimes Dick can wrangle a smile with his bad puns, so, all in all, Dick calls their first handful of interactions a win of sorts.

If anything, Bruce and Alfred have it worse. If Jason’s wary towards _Dick,_ he’s downright hostile to the only two adult men in the house, Alfred is tentatively put into the ‘harmless’ bracket, to an extent, but Bruce? Jason _avoids_ Bruce, Bruce walks into the library, Jason is up and out of the room like a startled animal bolting to find a piece of furniture to hide under. Bruce tries to speak to him, Jason is paranoid he’s looking for something incriminating as an excuse to toss him to the mercy of the farce that is Gotham’s poorly run foster system.

He only grows tenser, when he starts noticing Dick’s patrol bruises, it makes Dick wince in guilt over the implications when Jason starts hurriedly tugging him along after him during those speedy exits. The first time it happens it startles Dick, but it's also the first time Jason’s willingly grasped his hand and brought him into his room, his _space_ , of his own free will. He keeps doing it, Dick isn’t sure how to fix the situation. Because his usual lies that work with his civilian friends don't work, not with Jason. Not even concealer works to put him at ease if anything it just sets him  _more_ on edge. 

Jason stays grim and quiet during those times, doesn’t even say a word when Dick chatters away like normal--instead, frowning in frustration at Dick’s scrapes and yellowing bruises like they've personally wronged him somehow.

The one time Dick recalls seeing Jason get truly  _livid_ is when he'd noticed suspicious bruises in the shape of fingerprints coiled around Dick's left wrist one afternoon.

They’re in the library. He’s found Jason in one of his favorite hiding spots--a dusty armchair, tucked in a corner deep in the library behind several shelves with textbooks on medicinal practice and Arabic literature. Alfred would never allow anything in the manor to dust or fade, that’s how Dick knows just how forgotten this lonely little corner was. Bruce had caught him in a hurry the night before--Dick was falling, slipping, B didn’t have time to be careful about it. Dick thinks he’s actually more relieved that he didn’t accidentally damage his rotator cup, otherwise he’d be in a sling, which would only make the injury harder to explain.

“Son of a **_bitch_** _, did he_ \--” Jason’s voice had dropped, chased by a disgusted venom like he wants to remake his words into a lethal poison and feed it into Bruce’s veins drop by drop. It throws Dick off balance, he’d thought Jay didn’t like him _period_ , never mind tolerated him well enough to get angry on his behalf.

Dick finds himself at a loss, Jason is good at throwing him off guard like that.

And so, in his shock, Dick does the one thing Bruce said to never, ever do while living lifestyles like theirs, he tells the truth. “Oh god no--he just, I, he’d never _._ ” he swallows dryly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his athletic-tee. “Bruce is _good_.--It was, just, it was...” All he can manage is a helpless shrug under that piercing gaze, he feels himself digging a deeper and more incriminating hole. Because god, listen to him, _Dick_ wouldn't believe himself. “... He’d never.”

“...You don’t have to protect him,” Jason says in that slow, careful way of his, eyes taking in Dick’s face, his posture, the frantic tremble of his voice, his _everything._ With a jolt, Dick realizes, no one’s said anything of the sort to him once. Not when his parents fell, not whenever Dick was injured during patrol, not among fellow heroes… not _ever._

It makes him feel antsy.

“It’s not like that.”

“You _don’t_.”

Dick flinches, the words don’t mean the same things to Jason that they do to him, not really, but they make him uncomfortable anyways, uncomfortable like those nights when Alfred quietly brings up therapy. He clenches and unclenches clammy fists. _You don’t understand, I_ **_need_ ** _to. He needs me._ Instead, he says: “It’s  _not._ Listen--it was an accident.” And it was.

Something in his voice or expression must convince Jason--or at least convince him to let the subject drop. Because slowly, the enraged stillness in his shoulders rolls back and he gives Dick a careful nod. His eyes are glaring like Dick’s a frustrating puzzle he can’t quite solve. Dick knows he'd be even more frustrated if Dick had just outright lied like he usually did. The truth, no matter how vague, always worked better with Jason than bald-faced lies.

Either way, Jason shifts over in the oversized armchair and grumbles at Dick  _sit._  The change in demeanor is such a surprise, Dick perches obediently next to Jason without another word. A loaded silence builds between them, Dick doesn’t understand the urge he gets, to lean his weight into the other boy, to bury his face into the warmth that’s just a layer of clothing away.

“So,” he eventually chirps, instead of giving into the affectionate itch growing under his skin, and risking whittling away the inch Jason's given him, “what’cha reading?”

***

Jason still keeps a bag packed, shoved and hidden in the uppermost shelves of his closet, Dick pretends not to notice.  

“You know, you look pretty good in the Gotham Academy uniform.”

Jason arches up a skeptical eyebrow, glancing back at Dick warily from where he’s straightening his tie; he’s stopped locking his door in the mornings, Dick’s stopped knocking. (Jason’s bed is comfy and smells faintly of cigarettes. A part of Dick wonders how miffed Alfred must be, knowing he can’t figure out wherever Jay keeps hiding them, _Dick_  can't even figure out where he keeps hiding them.)

“You makin’ fun of me, circus brat?” Jason starts, wary like he’s not sure what Dick’s angle is, “C’mon. Everything's baggy in all the wrong places.”

Dick grins with all teeth, sprawled out so his head’s hanging upside down off the edge of Jay’s bed, he makes a point of doing a contortion that near folds him completely in half before flipping himself the rest of the way off the bed. --His landing is sloppier than he’d like, the bed is too low, it makes Dick frown.

“Don't worry! You’ll grow into it, you’re what, 5”5-ish?”

“And _you’re_ 5 foot-nothing-short stack, watch it.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “God you’re dramatic. You’re gonna be obnoxious when your growth spurt hits.”

Jason shoots him a funny look, “... Growth spurt?”

“Well… yeah? You haven’t grown into those oversized hands or those hulking feet yet. My _Da_ \--," Dick pauses, corrects himself, as Jason gives him a curious look, "... Ma used to say that’s a sign that someone’s gonna be giant when they grow older.” Dick comments all reminiscent and teasing, eyes dancing as he meanders closer. He notices Jason’s eyes absently flickering downwards to take in the way he moves, cataloging the twist of his form. It makes Dick’s stomach do an odd sort of flip flop--it's not a bad feeling. It’s like a shot of the adrenaline Dick gets when he takes a leap off a ten story with only the rusty fire escape across an alleyway to trust and muscle memory.

(Speaking with Jay lately always feels like taking a leap, Dick’s still not sure what to make of it, yet.)

"Alfred's waiting for us downstairs--how’s about we get moving?"

**

At school, Jason avoids Dick at first.

Despite Dick's numerous offers for him to sit with him and Babs and their little library group, he still chooses to sit alone. He does his school work, he floats on through his studies all quiet and sullen, even reading books at lunch. Dick wishes he could get him to open up more, Jay seems like he’d like Babs and her library friends, what with how much American classics he’s already gone through in the manor library already.

So, on the second week, Dick starts sitting next to him at the empty lunch table all on his own, chattering away while they both munch through Alfred’s handmade lunches (even prickly and barbed as he always is--Jason never, ever, wastes food, even if he still doesn’t trust Alfred completely.)

“Don’t you have friends?” He asks only once, but Dick brushes him off with a shrug.

“I do. But you just need me more.” That one gets Dick a funny look, a flash of something tentative like recollection that almost makes Dick feel nervous, before Jason just grunts and goes right back to his lunch.

Dick likes to think Jason trusts him a little more than he did when Batman first steered him in direction of Bruce Wayne--but Jay’s simultaneously easy and hard to read, so he can’t be sure. Sometimes he wishes he could just get to know him as Robin instead, then maybe the other boy wouldn’t be so tense around him all the time.

 

“You know…" he starts, while they're in the library again together one day, huddled around another classic, "Bruce isn’t out to hurt you, Jay. None of us are.”

Jason bites into an apple from the kitchen, halfway through Moby Dick, shooting him another one of those lengthy searching looks. “... I don’t do well with liars. Know ‘em when I see ‘em. Wayne’s eyes are always just saying something totally different than what his mouth is saying, see? Even if he’s a damned good liar, gotta admit..” He says and swallows his bite, brows furrowing, “He doesn’t trust me. So, I don't trust him.”

Dick’s heart is in his throat, he hadn’t realized how much Jason had picked up living here, he wonders if Bruce even knows. “What… What do you mean by that?” Jason gives him a tired look.

“I _mean_ , he’s as good a liar as I am, if not better, only times I’ve seen him honest is when he smiles at you and the butler-guy.”

“Alfred. --I know you know his name, Jase.”

“Whatever. My point is that you don’t put on a mask _that_ thick 24/7 unless you’re hiding something major--like life-ruining, major. And you wanna know what  _I_ think?” Jason meets Dick’s eyes right then, sea foam teal burning into his with a clear purpose. “ _I_ think it’s a secret you’re _all_ sharing, one that none of you can tell. _I_ think it's gotta do with who went an' shucked me off here in the first place--am I 'hot', yet?”

That earns Jason a violent twitch and a guilty lowering of Dick’s head, he can’t meet those burning eyes anymore, it seems like they already know the answer and needling Dick is just a preamble. “Jason--”

But just like that, Jason lazily brushes him off, it kind of gives Dick a minor dose of whiplash. “It’s whatever, Grayson--I’ll figure it out eventually, gimme another month and who knows? We might actually be real friends by the end of this mess.”

Something like hope sputters to life in Dick’s chest, he forces a smile, “... Right. So, how’s that Pre-Calc going?”

Immediately Jason’s face twists into a grimace, the tension in the room dissipates, “ _Gross_. Should’a intentionally done worse on the Algebra placement test.”

"You complain, but you're getting straight A's right now."

"You're damn right I am." 

 

(True to Jason’s word, in less than a month’s time after snooping around the manor, he finally manages to stumble across the Batcave. Dick is eating a cup of very-not-Alfred-approved noodles in Batman’s chair running the comms for him and Babs, completely barefaced, in full-Robin paraphernalia. They stare at each other for a solid ten seconds, Dick’s throat feels dry.

“Uh.”

Just like that, Jason grins, eyes brightening in triumph, the expression reminds Dick of the look he gets whenever he figures out a formula he’s having trouble with. “I _knew it._ ” He says and Dick can’t help returning the smile, albeit a little sheepishly as Batman rumbles in his ear for a status report.

“At least you’ve already got the detective skills down pat for the job--does this mean we’re 'real friends' now, pup?”

Jason makes a face at that, “ _Hell_ , now that I know who you are, you’re gonna start calling me that again, aren’t ya?”

“Mmhm.”

“Insufferable.”)

 

With Batman and Robin’s alter egos finally revealed, it’s like flipping a switch.

Once Jason finally  _gets it_ , once he feels safe and the urge to bolt at the drop of a hat passes, he’s much less withdrawn and high strung. He smiles more, he jokes around more, he stops bristling at Bruce like a feral dog. --He’s almost inquisitive, even. It’s more than a little endearing. 

When asked about the sudden change, Jason had simply shrugged and replied in that frank tone of his: _“I hate not knowing things. Rigged problems I can’t find the solution to piss me off.”_

 

After Babs, it’s not so hard to convince B to start in on training Jason, too.

The first time they spar, something that feels a lot like what happened with Donna snaps neatly into place, like a missing cog in a clock that’s needed to start it ticking again. Jason fights low and dirty--he fights like he wants to be a bruiser, but doesn’t quite have the mass for it yet. Dick fights high and graceful, light on his feet as though gravity is an option that he’s chosen to disregard altogether. An acrobat.

By the end of the first twenty minutes, Dick beats him in a pin. They’re both out of breath, faces so close their noses are touching and Dick’s got an almost manic grin on his face.

“Oh, I get it now,” He breathes. Jason’s eyes flicker down to his lips and up again. Dick’s stomach does that funny thing again.

“Get what.”

Dick soundly presses his lips to the other boy’s forehead, giggling when Jason lets out a strangled sound like a warbling animal. When he pulls back Jason’s ears are bright red, it sort of makes Dick wish Bruce and Barbara weren’t on the other side of the training room working on aikido. Then he could push further. Instead, he pats the other boy's cheek affectionately.

“If you can’t guess it yet, you’ll have to work really hard at improving your detective skills to keep up with _me_ , pup.”

 

***

It’s a weird sort of balancing act, living with Jason Todd.

He and Jason aren’t brothers, not really, not with Dick’s heavyhanded flirting, and affectionate touches, but Bruce is most certainly Jason’s father-figure at the same time. They connect so easily it surprises Dick at first; it _definitely_ helps that Jason isn’t wholly convinced that Bruce is secretly abusing him anymore, at the very least. --In fact, it takes everything inside of Dick not to laugh his ass off the day Jason accidentally calls B ‘dad’ and Bruce responds with ‘son’ resulting in twin emotionally constipated looks on their faces as the words sunk in.

He’s not jealous, not exactly, but there’s an ugly, awful sort of feeling in his chest sometimes, watching Bruce ruffle Jay’s hair or seeing Jay help Alfred out in the kitchen. They’re terrible ugly words that he would never speak of to anyone.

_What happens when they don't need me anymore?_

But he’s Dick Grayson, and these people are _his,_  even if one day they don’t need him anymore, he’ll still be there in a heartbeat, he’d still catch them because family is important. _His people are important._ So, he tucks the ugly things deep inside a box inside himself for no one to see, for no one to hear.

(Dick smiles like always--he keeps them from falling, it’s all he can do.)

***

“What can I bribe you with to get you to stop flirting with Jason in front of me.”

“Depends. What can _I_ do to get you to stop awkwardly trying to give me the sex talk, _Bruce_?”

“... I haven’t even gotten around to telling you about safe, sane, and consensual yet--”

“I’m begging you on my hands and knees B, please don’t finish that sentence.”

***

Two months into his training Jason starts asking Dick about his name, Dick jokingly suggests Jaybird, much to the other boy’s chagrin.

The subject hangs heavy between them, especially on the nights when Batman would come back injured, or when Robin would come back with a deep furrow in his brow and a quiet, solemn sort of way about him. On those nights Jason wiggles under Dick’s blankets with a flashlight and reads to him instead of offering those looks of sad resignation Dick is used to getting from Alfred.

 _“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me...”_ The types of things Jason read are never things Dick find particularly interesting, but Jay’s voice is soft and calming, and with his cheek pressed against his chest, Dick can hear and feel the rumble of the words and just let them wash over him.

He doesn’t have any nightmares on the nights with Jason’s arms around him. It’s not until a particularly distressing murder case ~~( _thosekidshellsomanykids, cages everywhere, that basement the dolls--_ ~~ ~~)~~ that has Dick waking up in the middle of the night with wide eyes and short panicked breaths, losing sleep, for two weeks straight--until Jason walks into his room one night with prowling, purposeful steps.

“Get up, Dickface. You’re coming with me. I’m up with Pre-Calc homework again tonight anyway.”

Dick had blinked owlishly, “What.”

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight,” his voice is hard, leaving no room for arguments, "So, get up." Dick feels a little numb, and just a bit silly for the relief that unfurls in his chest.

“... You just said you’ve got homework.”

That boyish half-grin is enough to make him dizzy, “Come on, Dickie, I’m a multitasker. Besides, _you’re_ the mathlete here.”

The line between ‘Dick’s room’ and ‘Jason’s room’ gets a little blurry after that, even after Dick gets his bearings about him again.

Soon enough, he starts coming into Jason’s room all on his own on those hard nights, padding in with red-rimmed eyes and tightly set shoulders. It’s reassuring, knowing that if he doesn’t come by himself, then Jason will come into his room to drag him into his space by the ear if necessary, fussing in Bruce’s overprotective lioness-like way. It makes Dick smile when he thinks about the similarities, face firmly tucked against Jason’s collarbone.

He couldn't-- _wouldn’t_ let Jason fall. Not ever.

“Not ever,” he murmurs out of the blue on one of those harder nights, lips moving against warm skin, his grip doesn’t tremble but it’s a damn near thing, “ _not ever_.”

He thinks he feels fingers reach up and card through his curls, but Dick nods off before he can be sure.

***

His second family takes to Jason enthusiastically… with a few hiccups here and there. It makes Dick feel relieved. Jason and Roy get on like a house on fire, which is actually kind of concerning if Dick’s being honest with himself here, and Donna absolutely _adores_ him, much to Dick’s relief. He’s not sure what he’d do if Donna didn’t like Jason, he’d be absolutely devastated, he thinks.

“He’s so polite! He’s got no clue where to put his hands, Dick. I kinda wanna eat him right up.”

Jason goes an interesting shade of pink from where he's wrapped up in Donna's arms, he blinks rapidly, seemingly at a loss. “Uhm.” Dick coils around his arm, eyes dancing playfully as he rests a chin on the shoulders Jason’s yet to grow into.

“Sorry Starlight, this one's mine.” Jason outright chokes at _that_ , and it just makes Dick want to double team him together with Donna to see how flustered they can get him.

Wally and Jason, however, buttheads about as bad as Garth and Roy when they first met--just... without the underlying sexual tension that no one is supposed to acknowledge or talk about. At least Dick hopes there’s no sexual tension, that’d just make this new, fragile thing with Jay even weirder _._

The initial animosity gets bad enough to the point where Dick worries that things might escalate to blows, but Donna waves him off from where she’s got his head in her lap and tells him to let them work it out. That night, he sleeps with Donna--it’s been such a while since he’s slept with anyone but Jason, but Donna chases his fears away just as well, so Dick allows himself some time to rest.

Jay and Walls do work it out, though Roy looks entirely too smug with himself that next morning for Dick’s health. As he looks from the smirking Archer to a very cowed looking Jason and Wally over his cereal, Dick is unsure if he even wants to know how that mess got sorted.

He asks Jason anyway, as they’re leaving the tower after a long weekend, watching as Jay’s cheeks twinge pink, “We, uh, just came to a mutual agreement, that's all.”

“And what was that?" Dick asks, rightfully skeptical because Walls is stubborn as an ox.

Jason flounders for a moment before he stutters something out that Dick wouldn’t have caught if he hadn’t been listening for it. Then, immediately, Jason takes off, all but jogging towards the check-in gate for their return flight to Gotham, leaving Dick floored for all of several moments before the words sink in:

 

_“What matters most is keeping you happy.”_

 

Dick’s cheeks  _burn_ as he sinks into a crouch, right there, in the middle of a busy New York Airport, pillowing his head in between his knees to will away the dizzy, giddy feeling that perpetuates his chest. He gives himself a few seconds and a few concerned bystanders before he hops up and shoots off after Jay, who’s absolutely determined not to meet his eyes. And that’s okay because Dick can’t meet his eyes right now either if he wanted to.

Later on, the plane, when Dick intertwines their fingers together and tentatively lays his cheek on his shoulder, Jason doesn’t so much as peep a single complaint regarding Dick’s clinginess. In fact, he stops complaining about it altogether after that trip. It feels like a step forward into… something. Dick is curious about where it’ll lead them.

.

.

.

.

Dent happens.

It’s a little over a month after his fiftieth birthday. Dick tries not to think too hard about it. Batman fires him.

(“You were going to _fall_.”

“--You didn’t _listen_. You disobeyed a direct order.”

“You were going to **fall** _,_ B. _I couldn’t just let you fall, not again--”_ )

Afterward, Alfred asks him, begs him, really, with a firm insistence Dick's never heard from him before, to go to a therapist again. Dick says no. _Bruce_ comes in and winces when Dick stiffens and curls in on himself, then, quietly, in a hushed, gentle tone, he asks him if he wants to see a League therapist. Dick, ashamed, quietly refuses. A part of him wonders just how badly Alfred must have reamed into him this time, normally B doesn’t show up at all.

The next day, Jason takes one good look at him (he’d been with Babs, it wasn’t their turn on the comms that night, they’d went to study instead) drinks in the sight of Dick all broken and bandaged up in bed, and his expression goes _dark_. It’s a deep-seated sort of bristling anger, the kind that burns so badly that it cycles back to cold precision and hardened determination. Rage.

Dick watches as other’s shoulders unwind, expression going carefully blank, but his eyes are downright _stormy_ \--Dick’s too frozen under that intense stare to get even a word in edgewise--then just as quickly as he arrived, Jason turns on his heel. He leaves.

He thinks he hears shouting in the manor, both of the voices are achingly familiar, but Dick finds he’s too drained to do a single thing but go back to sleep--he blames it on Alfie’s painkillers.

The next week is tense, Dick can feelit in the manor's core. Bruce doesn’t come to see him again, Alfred comes by to deliver pills, water, and food--rinse, wash, repeat every four hours. Jason doesn’t come either. Dick is left to his thoughts, left to wonder how long until B tosses him out for picking his life over a stranger’s, how long until B tells him he’s too much of a one-track minded fuckup to even keep being his son--he’s already fired as his partner, why stop there?

Dick bides his time, mindlessly watching daytime television as he waits for his arm and ribs to heal.

\--Roy comes to visit the second week in civvies, bringing offerings of sugar and soda, the likes of which are probably (definitely) not Alfred approved. To his credit, Dick fakes his smile for all of several seconds, before he notices Donna peeking around Roy’s shoulder with those wide, sad gray eyes. His expression crumples like wadded paper.

“Oh, honey…” She just says in that quiet, knowing way of hers and it just breaks Dick to pieces right then and there.

 _(“I disappointed him--I disappointed him so bad. He doesn’t want to fly with me anymore Donna--but I couldn’t let him fall, I_ **_couldn’t_** _, anything but that--”_

_“It’s okay, honey, things are all going to work out okay. They always do.”)_

A treacherous, self-loathing part of himself wonders if Jason’s disappointed with him, too. If Jason’s even coming back.

***

He thinks of leaving, but that would mean leaving Jason--and Dick has a _responsibility_ to Jason, he’d promised to help him fly.

***

Jason doesn’t turn up again until several weeks later when Alfred is busy cutting Dick’s cast off and Dick has gotten better at pretending to laugh and joke again. He walks into Dick’s bedroom with bloody and bandaged knuckles and eyes that blaze hot enough to sheer straight through to Dick’s very soul, far past the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Jason always sees past Dick's fake smiles. It's why he lets the one he was wearing for Alfie drop.

“Dent’s back in Arkham.” Jason says raising his head defiantly, after a loaded silence, during which Alfred leaves the room, “I convinced B--we’re gonna be Robin together.” There’s not a falter in Jay’s voice, but there’s a stubborn tick of tension in his jaw that’s prepared to argue with Dick over it if need be, ready to fight tooth and nail for Dick to see him as worthy enough to wear his family colors--worthy to use his mother’s name.

It makes Dick feel _hopelessly_ fond.

Slowly, quietly, Dick nods, lips quirking in a tentative smile, a real one, as his eyes sting, “Together.”

“ _Together_ ,” insists Jay and grips his hand tight, it puts Dick at ease.

With that, Jason bullies his way into bed next to him grabs a familiar book from the nightstand, Dick’s too floored to argue. “ _Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us..._ ”

Jason keeps reading, even when Dick’s breaths gain a small hitch, a subtle hiccup, and he starts up crying again. All Jason does in response is wrap an arm tighter around his lower back and rest his cheek soundly against his hair as Dick’s shoulders quietly tremble.

By the time he’s all cried out and Austen's words have trickled down to sweet, warm, comforts murmured into his hair, Dick asks Jason if he was angry at him--if that’s why he left. Jason gives him a long searching look, before soundly replying, “Never.”

“Was angry  _for_ you _._ Was angry at B for being an emotionally constipated asshole and breaking you to pieces, was angry with _Harvey-fucking-Dent_ for putting you in that bed in the first place. But never at you, Dickie. Never.” He says firmly, knocking their foreheads together lightly as though reproaching Dick for thinking so in the first place.

(Jason always feels so much, so deeply that it scares Dick sometimes. Not because he’s afraid of Jason, really, it's more he’s afraid of Jason coming to _hate_ him one day.)

 

Later, Dick asks what Jason did to convince Bruce. Jason just gives him that devil may care smile, squeezes his hand tightly again with his split and reddened knuckles he hadn’t even bothered to wrap. ( _They’re gonna scar like that,_ Dick absently notes).

“Don’t worry about it.” he says, “Told you already--I’d look after you, Dickie.”

Dick decides to try trusting him, just this once.

***

“I’m gonna teach you how to fly tonight.” Dick declares during one of the days leading up to Jay’s first night out, a bright grin on his face. Jason is in the sitting room with a thick book on forensics--its pages bible thin, with type so small Dick can’t help worrying he’ll ruin his vision that way.

Jason blinks before marking his page, lips stretching into a slow grin, “--'Bout damn time, Golden boy. Took a _lifetime_ to convince B I was ready. I was starting to think you wanted me to learn your special little tricks first before you took me out.” Dick snorts at that.

“Not all of us can be trapeze artists, B just... forgets sometimes. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, that's all.” and he tosses Jay a black domino. “Now--pull on a hoodie, loser, we’re hitting the rooftops.”

 

Jason is an utter dream when he's in motion--where Dick shows off with flourishes and intricate flips, Jason’s leaps and bounds are all raw power and intuitive direction, like he’s running on pure instinct. It steals Dick’s breath away, thinking about how refined that parkour freerunning style of his will be once Jay’s all filled out and has the strength and power to make those longer leaps, has the stride to sprint  _faster_ , more efficiently.

“You’ve done this before,” Dick comments in amusement, as Jason lands beside him on a quiet four-story, overlooking the docks.

“I’m a kid from crime alley, Dickie--I know these rooftops like the back of my hand, B already drilled grapple safely into my skull.”

Dick pouts, “Then why’d you let me embarrass myself telling you the best ways to land and fall.”

“I’m self-taught, learned all my lessons the hard way--sprained ankles, broken bones an’ all. Thought it’d be better to learn from an expert for once.” Jason says easily, and steps closer so they’re chest to chest.

Dick’s cheeks heat at that, still, he inclines his head with a bitten back grin. “Well, as the certified ‘expert’ here, you land too heavy and you rely on your lower body strength too much. I predict you’re going to end up with arthritis by thirty.”

Jason hums thoughtfully, tapping the side of Dick’s domino twice to raise his eye whites, he doesn’t remove his hand, shifting to cup one of Dick’s cheeks as he keeps speaking as though Dick’s heart isn’t ready to pound straight out of his chest. “Not all of us can be light an’ free as you twinkle toes.”

Dick tilts his hand into Jason’s palm, his smile growing warm, “‘Free’?” Jason reels him in closer by the waist, their chests are touching now Dick realizes in the back of his mind, still distracted by those intense eyes that remind him of the sea.

“--As a bird, birdie. You’re always just… bobbin along, flitterin’ about.” His smile is half parts mocking other parts self-deprecating, “Can’t ever catch up to you. You always end up catching _me_. Really.”

Sucking in a deep, leveling breath, Dick turns his head into Jason’s palm, pressing a shy sort of kiss to the skin of those rough, calloused palms, he hardly ever feels shy in front of Jason, but there’s something humbling--having Jay’s trust and unyielding loyalty focused squarely on him like this. “Well... you’ve caught me now, haven’t you?” Jason stares at him for a long time, their foreheads pressed together, _(When had that happened?),_ eyes dark and turbulent with a purpose Dick can’t quite name. "Besides, you're not meant to be catching me anyways," Jason looks ready to argue at that, Dick physically knocks their foreheads a bit more firmly, if anything its almost a mini-headbutt. "It's my _job_ to catch you, Jay. It's _my_ colors you're wearing, _my_ name--I'm not letting you fall."

For a moment, Jason meets his gaze, conflicted and unsure, like he's fighting with himself over something, Dick holds his breath. Then, just like that, much to Dick’s disappointment, Jason allows his hand to slip from his cheek without further preamble. “... Gonna be the death of me, Goldie.” And he pointedly puts some distance between the two of them until the only thing Dick can feel is the lightest of touches on the small of his back.

“Let's head on home, Alf says my uniform should be finished tonight.”

***

Gotham has twin birds in her skies, one to flitter about and distract, the other to misdirect and attack. The Bat calls them both ‘Robin’.

Whenever the Bat calls, the correct one he's asking for always comes leaping down from the rooftops to stand at his side without fail; people puzzle over it, hmming, and hah-ing over the oddity of it all. But there is no name change, although one Robin fondly refers to the new addition as ‘Red’.

***

The good Commissioner stares at Dick for a long time, before sliding his gaze to Jason, then back again.

“You multiply in the past several months since I’ve seen you kid?” Dick beams.

“Yeap! Don’t you know, Commish? Robins reproduce asexually--you see. This is my son, Robin II.” Dick says, the intended deadpan effect of the words are lost in how he can’t seem to fight his gamely smile down.

Jason lets out a short snicker from beside him, bumping Dick’s shoulder with his elbow, as Gordon gives Dick the driest of looks, “Uh-huh… Riiight.”  

“--Hey sir, that a menthol? Smells like it. Mind if I bum one offa'you?” Gordon arches up a brow at Batman who just gives Jason a tired sort of look.

“You even eighteen yet, brat?”

“Not important.”

“I’m a _cop._ ”

Jason raises his nose up at Gordon, and drawls, thick lower Gotham accent roiling over his words, halfways in a snarl, “Even less impor’ant, _pig_.”

“ _Robin!_ ” Batman snaps and Jason slinks back with a scowl a grumble, resting his chin on the other robin’s shoulder as he mutters against Dick’s ear and Batman moves to chat with Gordon.

“I ain’t wrong though--can’t trust cops for shit in this city.”

Dick snorts and whispers back, “Don’t say that around Batgirl she’ll beat you up and down the training mats, talking to her Dad like that.”

“Well, you can tell  _her_ if she doesn’t like me callin’ her Pops a pig then she should grow up an’ fix the system her damn self. She’s clever, she’ll figure it out.”

 

***

 

Dick always hates when things don't go according to plan--there's something about no longer being in control that absolutely paralyzes him. It must be a result of an unholy mixture of that lingering memory of his parents' line snapping,  _falling,_ and growing up with Batman as his mentor-father figure. Honestly, it's a bit of a mini-miracle Dick's as well adjusted as he is. But he's never really done well with missions going south, least of all missions that were  _his._

A part of him wishes sometimes that he didn't need to put the people he loves in harm's way. A part of him wishes he could wrap all of his important people in a protective blanket and make sure nothing ever hurts them again--he knows Bruce feels it too. He can see it in Bruce's face every time Diana leaps into a fray he can't follow into, every time Clark heads off to trade blows with something that could shatter every bone in his body with a single pinky finger. Dick finds it relatable, he's sure Roy does too. There's a certain level of resignation, being a non-metahuman hero, there's something so very temporary about the mortality of it all. Some days Dick wonders if he's going to live past thirty--he hopes so. Because he damn well wants to stick around to make sure his friends and family do too.

(He just wishes Jason wouldn't make it so _hard_.)

 

“Why the long face Dickie, we got outta that mess just fine didn’t we?”

“My plan. My fault.”

“ _Our plan_. We agreed to it. Together.”

“I should’ve been better. I… I know you’re not used to this yet.”

“I’m _fine,_  D. Just a sprained shoulder, gonna be in a sling for a few weeks, that’s all. 'Occupational hazard', remember?”

“Hell, Jay I-I thought you fell.”

“.... _Fuck_. Dick-- _Dickie_ , no listen, c’mon _._ ”

“I thought you _fell_ ,Jay. That thug pushed you over the edge, and-and, I thought you didn’t get your grapple ready in time, I froze, I-I couldn’t _catch-_ -”

“Hey-- _hey,_ nona’that, come’re. _Hate it_ when you cry, birdie, you know that. I'm fine, you're fine. Everything's going to be _okay_ , hear me?”

 

***

(He thinks he might love him.)

*** 

 

A new social circle forms around Dick during his junior year at Gotham Academy that he can’t seem to shake. Dick kind of hates it.

He misses all of his  _real_ friends, from Babs’ Library club that graduated last year, it seems like all he has is the teeny sophomores and freshmen he’s slowly been easing into the club and Jason to talk to at school these days. People have been asking him left and right out to barely-legal night clubs and raves, to 'join a sport', quit this and do this instead, do this, wear that--it’s like they’ve all forgotten that he was a mathlete for a good five out of his seven years at G.A. Dick finds it bizarre, what people will convince themselves of for a pretty face.

“So what’s up with you and Todd, doll?” Asks someone he hardly remembers the name of, he’s busy longingly watching the Library club table and seeing Jason interact with the other kids, chattering away about literature. The name doll catches his attention, making his nose crinkle briefly. Dick finally turns and blinks, looking at the guy who'd addressed him, he’s big and stocky, has a douchebag sort of way about him, military hair cut, dirty blonde hair, strong smell of ax body spray… His eyes are green, but he’s not Dick’s type. Then again, only one specific person is Dick’s 'type' these days, so it's probably not a fair thing to claim.

He subconsciously lets his thoughts drift back to Jason--already filling out nicely, strong jawline, already broader than Dick is around the chest area. He's due for another growth spurt this summer, Dick wonders how tall he's going to end up being...

"Yo. Wayne, you spacin' out on me?" 

“Hmm,” his eyes slide back over to the teen in question, again trying not to make a face at the title 'Wayne', for some reason it feels slightly worse than the 'doll' pet name. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t he, like, your brother, or something?” 

Dick barks out a genuinely amused laugh at that, “ _No_. No. Absolutely not. He's Bruce's ward we live together, that's all. It's a big manor.” (Did a brother-in-arms still count as a 'brother'? Dick had never really gotten into the specifics of it all. Roy was a brother of his too, after all.) 

“Then what's going on between you two? You never date anyone it seems.”

"Like I said," Dick looks on thoughtfully for a moment, Jason’s eyes meet his from across the lunch room, the look that crosses them at the other teen's proximity to him almost makes him wince in sympathy for what's likely to follow, “... complicated.”

The other boy leans in close, the table erupts into a chorus of excited  _Oohs_. All Dick can think about is how much his breath reeks. “Oh really? Complicated enough for you to consider a night out for some fun? I know a club, a _real_ good one that doesn’t check IDs. I can take you for a _ride_ , Grayson.” _Annnnd, there it is._ He kind of misses when he just flew under everyone's radar. He got far fewer people trying to get into his pants that way. 

Dick watches, resigned, as Jason abruptly stands from his seat with a dark expression creeping over his features, and crosses the length of the cafeteria in quickening strides, students parting for him like the Red Sea. Absently, he leans over to sip his soda as the guard dog he never asked for smoothly slides his way in between them, elbows landing heavy on the lunch table. The jock looks ready to blow a gasket as Jason casually  ~~territorially~~  takes a stray bit of hair that's in Dick's face and tucks it behind his ear. He studiously ignores the teen and the eerily silent members of Dick's current lunch table group.   
  
"You're ridiculous," he mutters though he can't restrain a fond smile.

"Looked to me like Mitch here was making you uncomfortable," Jason mutters with a scowl.

 _Mitch! That was his name._ Dick smiles apologetically as he cranes his neck around Jason's form looking back at the boiling teen in question. “Uh, anyway, sorry, stuff like that isn't _really_ my scene, you understand," but before he's even got half the rejection out, Jason is already gripping his elbow, tugging him away probably back to the Library table.

"Oi, I wasn't  _done_ \--"

Jason finally turns to Mitch with an unimpressed look, lips curling into something like a snarl. " _I_ think you are. Did'ja forget how to speak English, musclehead? He already  _said_ fuck off." With that, Dick drops his head into his hands sensing already that lunch hour was no longer salvageable. _Not again_ , he thinks. 

 

(“You didn’t have to punch him in the face _and_ bust him to the administration for bringing E to school just for propositioning me, Jay. You could have easily just done one of those things."

“Mitch was a snake anyways. He was selling laced shit to freshman.”

“Still--was the punching _really_ necessary?”

“He swung first.”

“You’re the _trained vigilante_ , you totally broke his nose on purpose.”

“It ain't like I _maimed_ the dirtbag--you can reset a nose easy.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’d say it’s a part of my charm.”)

 

***

They’re in Dick’s bed watching a dumb True Crime TV show, cheesy scene reenactments and all.

Jason’s got an arm tossed possessively around Dick’s shoulders. He’s been doing that a lot lately, at school, around friends and other masks and capes alike. But that’s okay. Dick’s no better--he’s grown used to leaning into the familiar heat of Jay’s side, used to hanging off a shoulder he’s been pestering since he was a plucky freshman with a crooked smile and a laugh that promised mischief. 

Dick’s still not sure what they are exactly. Jason just _fits,_ in that same, irreplaceable, freeing way that Donna does. But Dick doesn’t notice the same things in Donna that he does in Jason. It’s like how it was with Roy for a while before something went click in both their brains at the same time and Roy fell hard for Donna and Dick realized that he liked strong jaw lines and broad shoulders just as much as he likes green eyes and shapely hips.

Whatever the feeling is--it’s intense. Enough to bring him to his knees in a heartbeat, admit defeat, leave everything without a pause. He’d do it for Donna. He’d do it for Jason. He’s done it for Bruce that first time Bruce asked him to stay in every action but his words _._ It’s a little scary, what he’d do for Jason Peter Todd. In fact, the things Dick won’tdo for Jason Peter Todd is an unnervingly short list.

God help and forgive him if there’s ever a situation like with Dent again where Dick has to ‘choose’.   
  
Slender fingers absently play with rough and calloused fighter’s hands, as Jason picks up a conversation from earlier that day seamlessly, as though they’d never paused on the subject of conversation at all.

“A cop, though, Dickie? _A pig_? _Really?_ Golden boy to a fault I swear," Jason groans in frustration, tearing his eyes from the screen to look at Dick disapprovingly, "--It's a _bad idea_. You know it is. You’ve _gotta_ know it is--”

“Now you sound like Bruce.” Dick scoffed, popping up an eyebrow, “Come on, I’m serious about this, Donna wants to be a fashion photographer. No one’s pestering _her_.” He lifts his head from Jason’s shoulder, scowling half-heartedly.

“Way different from bein’ a cop among Gotham’s finest pigsty, Hunk Wonder.”

“Family full of vigilantes and not one of us thinks its a good idea for someone to be on the police force?”

“You know  _most_ vigilantes--the sane ones, I mean--would rather get a chill daytime job that doesn't draw undue attention to them? Harder to guess ‘em that way. That’s what _covers_ are for.”

Dick groans, “Then what do you suggest, smartass? I can’t just teach kids gymnastics on the weekends for my day job for the rest of my natural life. I’d get _restless,_ go nuts.”

"Now you're just being overdramatic."

"I'm really not, I need  _stimulation_ Jay, and... I dunno? A way to make a change. This city... bugs me, you know? I just want to help people. I want to make this place better."

Jason exhales, "Fucking--"

Dick keeps going, outright frowning at him now, "I want to make a difference as  _Dick Grayson_ , not as Richie Wayne, or the Bat's sidekick, as _me_ , you know?"

The other boy looks badly like he wants to slam his head into something, preferably a wall. But Dick holds his ground, stubborn and unrelenting as Jason's expression wilts and he drags a frustrated hand over his face after a long silence. “... _Okay._ Okay. Fine then, how about this...a compromise,” that gave Dick a wary pause, “... a private eye. For an adrenaline junkie like you? Hands down.”

Dick is curious enough to drop his stubborn scowl, eyebrows raising, “Oooh, that’s a new one.”

“When you’re a private eye, you pick your cases. Your company, your rules. And when someone comes ‘round and asks why _that_ guy was brought in by _that_ vigilante just after you took on a case--you can claim plausible deniability.”

Dick thinks about it, seriously thinks on it because Jason always wins their arguments, mostly because he makes better points, well-thought-out points that aren't driven by momentary anger and frustration. Dick has long been suspicious of him and Alfred being in cahoots with each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them hashed out this whole conversation point by point after Dick’s explosive argument with B in the cave the other night over tea. “... _Fine._ How… How would you say I can claim ‘plausible deniability’ if people come asking questions?” Dick finally asks after a pregnant pause, sighing.

Jason grins roguishly like he’s already won something because really, in a way, he has. “Exactly what it sounds like ‘cause you can just say: ‘Prove it.’ Put the burden of proof on _them,_ that’s how they catch you, see? When you put the burden of proof on yourself there’s no end to what people can catch you in, 'cause then it's your job to come up with every single alibi. As a private eye, you have more flexible hours.” Jason shrugs, “If it's  _them_ trying to catch _you_ then the only work you’ve gotta do is be _better_ than them and don’t get caught,”

There’s something mesmerizing, watching Jay hash out plans in leader mode like this, whenever he maps out his battle strategies his eyes are always  _shining._  Dick couldn’t miss a single word right now if he wanted to; the other Robin is blunt as he is concise, sharp in his intelligence, it makes Dick question why Jason lets _him_ do all the planning constantly.--A part of him wonders if this is how his Titans feel whenever _he’s_ leading them. He hopes so.

“--See, can’t play that card with set hours and an assigned partner, babe.” Jason hums against his temple, it’s almost a kiss, but not quite. “You’re smarter than this. I _know_ you are, B knows it too--that’s why he was so pissed, I think.”

Dick’s heart does a confusing little _drop_ every time Jason calls him 'babe' these days. It makes his blood pump a little bit faster to his cheeks, warms him all the way down to the tips of his toes, makes him feel a little more reckless. “Mmm,” he gently plays with the digits of Jay’s index and middle fingers to distract from the building heat beneath his skin, chewing his lip and looking up, to meet familiar pools of teal, “... I’m not against it but… wouldn’t it be just as obvious, if every case I get is immediately taken on by a vigilante or two?”

“That’s the thing, Sugar." - _Wow, okay, using that pet name was just playing dirty, now Dick knew for_ sure _Jay was buttering him up, the cheater._ \- "Even if they do look into it? All they see is divorce papers and background checks, they see Richie Grayson, Gotham’s naive sweetheart playing detective and think ‘no way that’s _the_ Bat’,” Jason pulls his fingers from Dick’s idle grip, moving to tangle them together instead, squeezing firmly. “You itch your scratch to help people out of costume as a ‘civil servant’ an be the absolutely _disgustingly_ endearing cliche paragon character trope you were meant to be. I get to be your sexy secretary that keeps your shitty filing system neat and tidy--”

“Hey! My filing system is **not** shitty--”

“Have you _seen_ your own locker?”

“For the last time, my locker is fine--I know where everything is!”

“Doesn’t matter. If only you can understand it, then it’s a useless system, Dickie--offense intended,”-- _“Rude!”--_ “Anyways, that settles it, I’ll be doing all the organization work for you, otherwise, we wouldn’t get any cases done.”

A tight anxious knot that had settled root in his chest without Dick realizing it carefully unwinds. Jason was going to follow him no matter what he chose, and if that isn't the most reassuring thing in the world when it came to the unknowns of what the future might bring, Dick wasn't sure what was.

 

"You're in love with him," Donna says out of the blue one day and Dick just blinks, he's in the middle of eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes in the Titans' common room. Jay and Roy are raising havoc elsewhere, he thinks. He's trying not to worry about what they're getting up to.

"... I'm what."

Donna huffs at him, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, "With _Jason_. You're in love with Jason."

He feels himself go near catatonic--his full mouth gaps and closes at least several times, then almost robotically, he swallows his full-mouth and he responds with a dazed: "No, I'm not."

" _Yes_. You actually, really are hon. Starfire's given up on you, you know?"

Dick chokes mid-bite, " _Kori's what?_ Wait, first of all, she was interested, to begin with? Since _when_?" Donna rubs her temples and just mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _Poor Jason…’_ from under her breath, Dick flushes furiously, "Fine! So suppose you're right."

"And I am."

"And... you _might_ be--" Dick fidgets, "Even then, I've been flirting with him for ages how do I... you know. Make the big _leap_ \--"

Donna squints at him, "The what."

"You know, the _boyfriend_ leap. That big leap."

His star cackles out an ugly snort and Dick pouts as she keels over and laughs and laughs, clutching at her stomach. Yeesh, she doesn’t need to laugh _that_ hard. "O-Oh, oh _honey_ , you two have been dating for _years_ , the only difference is that you've never _kissed lips_ before--sweet Hera, not even romcoms are this entertaining--"

" _Donna--_ "

"I can assure you without a doubt that things will work out for the better if you just suck it up and tell him that you'd like things to be official."

Dick considers for a long time as Donna waits, giving him one of her patent 'sister knows best' stares. "... The first day of Spring--I'll... tell him then."

She stops her smug smiling to blink curiously at that, "Why? That's your birthday, isn't it?" she asks, and Dick feels his cheeks burn.

"That's the day we first met, and, uh, well. Spring is supposed to mean new beginnings, right? I figure 'New Love' is as good a new beginning as any."

Donna smiles at him warmly, ruffling his hair, "You really are just a sappy romantic at heart, aren't you?"

Dick huffs, "Jason only reads pre-modern romance novels, objectively, he's worse than me." This time Donna's laughter is affectionate and fond.

Dick looks forward to the Spring.

***

Dick walks another tightrope, another balancing act--one Robin nests mostly in Gotham, the other sometimes flies from the nest. Batman always has backup and Robin gets to look after his team, it's a delicate set up, and for a time, it works. 

But Dick flies too far, is away from the nest for too long.

He doesn’t see the signs, or the tension between Jason and Bruce, forgets again, trusts the people he’s supposed to protect too easily ~~_(uselessuselessuseless)_ ~~ _._ And despite what he’d promised himself over and over, despite the vows he’d etched into his very soul the day his parents died--he does something absolutely unforgivable.

 

He lets Jason fall.

 

***

Dick is _inconsolable_.

He doesn’t even speak to Bruce for months after the fact, ~~(he didn’t _tell_ him he missed the funeral, Dick can’t believe him, how _dare he not tell him--_ )~~ He spends what feels like an eternity in Donna’s arms after the blowout fight he has with Batman following his homecoming--the still lingering bruise on his cheek stings something awful, the stricken expression on B’s face that followed immediately after the impact still makes Dick tense up, leaving the backs of his eyes burning all over again.

He runs out of tears far too quickly, and it’s as though Dick’s brain settles into a buzzing sort of numbness after the tears stop. He sinks into a depression that feels like every limb weighs a ton, so much so that even getting out of bed in the mornings is a _chore_. Roy’s fingers card through his hair while Dick’s got his face buried in Donna’s chest internally counting every one of her heartbeats, Wally chatters and fills the sober silence because he knows how much Dick _hates_ the silence, and Garth just lets him sit next to him and _exist_. Kori, Victor, and Garfield linger on the outskirts of their tiny little bubble of comfort and misery. Their support is their very presence.

He's still utterly devastated, drowning in his own grief, but, at the very least, Dick isn’t alone.

(That tiny voice inside of him that’s still kind, still loves _,_ hopes that Bruce isn’t alone, hopes his League and Alfred make sure his mentor-- was he still ‘Dad’? Dick wasn’t even sure anymore-- doesn’t sink too far. When he’d looked back on his way out of the cave that last time, the set of Bruce’s shoulders had just seemed so _sad_.)

His eighteenth birthday passes him by when there’s a shroud of solemn mourning over the manor, Dick’s still buried in Jason’s bed sheets, Jason’s hoodies, Jason’s music. Bruce and Alfred don’t smile anymore, the manor doesn’t bustle with the noise Dick had hardly even noticed it’d been filled with ever since he’d brought Jay home for good.

Dick finishes out high school from home with straight C’s and a single A, it's in Advanced Calculus. Numbers are easy, mindless, Dick can do numbers--solving something logical with a clear solution helps, focusing on something that isn't near as senseless as death or grief at least gives Dick some semblance of control back in his life. The effort to graduate is his bare minimum, Jason would’ve hated to watch him flunk out of his last semester.

\--In the end, he doesn’t even walk, Jason had been so happy, about being able to finish school. They were going to walk _together_ , go to college together, start that agency together... but they couldn't anymore and it was Dick’s own stupid fault for forgetting to _catch_ him ~~_how could he make the same mistake twice--_~~

The hurt never seems to stop, it’s like a gnawing cancer eating away at him from the inside out, his parents, all the people as Robin that Dick couldn’t save, and now--Jason.

***

Dick had been right from the get-go. He  _did_ love him

***

“I can’t do it, Alfred. I can’t be Robin anymore, I. Not without--” Dick croaks out one morning after days of hardly speaking more than five words, he can’t even finish the statement.

It's the first time he’s left Jay’s room in weeks, weeks of barely touched food trays set outside a tightly closed door, and worried texts on top of missed calls from his Titans after that first week when he allowed himself to truly fall to pieces in front of them, just until he had the will to head back to the manor. He'd left without a word, and he knows everyone's probably worried out of their minds by now--though at the same time? Dick doesn't want  _anyone_ to see him this miserable, not even Donna. 

But his core four have been especially bad. Donna and Wally have been threatening to come in person, Roy and Garth have been collaborating in their efforts to somehow lure Dick into coming back to the tower, which was kind of terrifying in its own right. Roy and Garth never agreed on  _anything_.

(He can’t even remember the last time he washed his hair or showered, things are bad, worse than any funk he’s fallen into--because usually, Jason helps him out of slumps this low before they get this bad, and Jason isn’t _here_ anymore.)

Alfred takes one look at Dick and he just sighs, eyes softening up as he reaches forward to run his fingers through Dick’s oily, mangled curls, “Oh my boy,” the touch is gentle enough to make Dick tear up, “my dear, dear boy.”

“I still want-- _need_ to help people, Alf. It was Jason’s dream, my dream. _Ours_.” Dick swallows hard again and again, speaking about Jason is still like trying to down a bottle of molasses, even his name makes something in Dick's chest hitch and squeezes painfully, “he wanted things to be better in the Narrows, for the kids like him. But whenever I go down to the cave and the first thing I see is that uniform in that case and I just.” He blinks hard, shoulders shuddering. "I _can't_." Flying without Jay feels and is unimaginable--it’d just be so quiet without those offhanded jokes and snarky side comments to match his own during those long patrols. Barbara is at college, she can’t fly with him and B as often anymore, either, going back to it just being him and B again feels like it’d be something akin to trying to walk down an up-escalator. Especially after their fight in the cave. _Wrong_. Uncomfortable.

Right then, as Dick’s lost in his thoughts, Alfred startles him by setting a firm, stabilizing hand on his shoulder. When Dick glances upward the look in the older man’s eyes just about breaks his heart, even if Alfie is smiling. “My lad… if you can no longer bring yourself to be ‘Robin’, perhaps consider being someone _different_ instead.”

When Dick leaves the kitchen he _considers_. He keeps considering it, throughout the rest of that week, curled up in Jason’s bedsheets, brainstorming, planning. Because if Dick Grayson was nothing else, he was a _planner,_ the original protege of the Bat, contingencies upon contingencies were a part of his life at this point. There's a light at the end of the tunnel again, one that Dick had assumed had been snuffed out, turns out, he's just been looking in the wrong direction all along. 

So, for the first time in days, he texts Donna. He texts Roy. He starts with the baby steps then cautiously branches out to everyone else.

***

“What if… I were someone else instead.”

“Hmm, in that case, I think you should go for new colors this time around, hon.”

“--Yeah, Don's right, ‘traffic light’ isn’t exactly in season anymore, short pants.”

“Watch it, those are my family colors you’re talking about, Arrowhead.”

“Whatever, dude--but before that, think of a new name, yet?”

“... Well, Superman told me a story once when I was a kid, you see...”

.

.

.

.

 

_(The night is stormy and miserable with the acid rain that blankets the entirety of Gotham in a gloomy shroud. A pale, bleeding hand digs its way out of the rain-soaked Gotham Cemetary earth._

_\--A boy crawls out of a grave that night. He doesn’t know who he is or where he comes from, but he remembers eyes bluer than anything he's ever seen and a smile he’d do anything to keep. He recalls vague echos of warmth and safety, with someone named ‘Bruce’, in a place he'd fought tooth and nail to call 'home'._

_But his brain is scrambled, **wrong**. He can’t hope to string any of the memories and sensations together let alone remember how to get back to that warmth and safety, it's agonizing, but its something he craves on a base level. So, towards a seemingly deserted road, limbs broken and screaming, fingernails splintered from clawing his way out of his own coffin--like a puppet with cut strings, the boy shambles.)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jason: i'd die for you.  
> dick: please don't--
> 
>  --
> 
> (god this was a long section to edit (with more titans bc they're my favorite team-family and I love them all) anyways I hope the typos aren't too bad, I read over this an absurd amount of times so hopefully, they're minimal if anything... also special thanks to everyone who bookmarked and commented the last chapter! it was super encouraging. glad people are fond of this weird au)


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick picks up two baby chicks and takes them under his wing, meanwhile, overseas, a man gets to work on torching some rather despicable bridges.

 

♪ ♫

 

(Roy and Wally, the traitors, laugh at his suit the first time they see it.

“You know I come to my friends for support, right?”

“Uh-huh. Sure. But you _do_  know disco’s been dead for _ages,_ right, short pants?”

“Err, maybe it’ll make a comeback...?"

“... Yo, Walls! Bet you a twenty he changes that costume within the year.”

“I bet you a fifty it only lasts six months.”

Dick pouts but is soon all smiles again as Donna lounges over his shoulder with a matching grin and whispers to come to her if he ever gets tired of his first one.

The hurt over Jason is still there like a festering wound, but this here, with his second family? This is good. This feels  _right_ , being away from the manor, without Bruce’s brooding shadow looming over him, yet avoiding him in the same breath. It’s the lightest Dick’s felt in months. “You two are terrible. You're lucky I love you."

Wally is the one who wins the bet, in the end, Roy gripes about it for _ages_. Donna helps Dick design something slick and black with electric blue finger strips that match his eyes.)

 

Nightwing flies solo in Gotham. He’s all smarmy quips and smart-mouthed retorts. Even when things get sticky and the hopelessness threatens to swallow both him and lower Gotham whole, Nightwing always just gets right back up again, smiles gamely, and has the gall to ask Gotham to throw him another. He keeps an eye on the Bat from afar but doesn’t engage. When B’s hits grow more violent than need be? When he spies his form from a distance, unsteady and wobbly leaving a warehouse, stumbling enough from his injuries to make Dick anxious? Well. That’s not Nightwing’s business anymore, now is it? Robin is dead. Has been since the day that warehouse in Ethiopia blew and the Joker sent that damning tape that Dick still dreams about on the bad nights when he has to read Jason's old novels to keep distracted.

Even then, regardless, Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne don’t talk anymore. It isn’t Dick’s business either.

Dick moves out of the manor, Bruce doesn’t so much as send him off. --Somehow that makes the entire ordeal so much worse. He’s lost Jason to the Joker, he’s lost Bruce to the demons Dick’s been keeping at bay since he was nine. It’s ironic as it is fitting that Dick would lose the first person to pull him into the light after Haley’s to their own darkness.

 

(He goes to Gotham University. He studies criminal justice, but he decides won’t be a cop--he’s staying in Gotham and that’s too close to Gordon for his liking, Gordon is a lot of things but he sure isn't _stupid_. Dick remembers his conversation with Jay, the one he still keeps close to his heart; he makes it his goal to open a private detective agency instead.)

  
***

Dick isn’t able to catch Babs either.  
  
***

He doesn’t even get the _call_ , he sees it on the damn morning news first, and he’s out of his rundown apartment block in East End like a shot. He makes it to the hospital, the fact that he’s still on Barbara's list of emergency contacts, despite not speaking a word to her for months makes him want to fall to his knees, right there in the waiting room. But he holds himself steady, he robotically follows the nurse down the long narrow halls to where Babs' room is, it's all he _can_ do. When he finally sees her, pale-faced and drained of color, confined in that constricting neck brace, so still that she looks like she could be dead, it's enough to make Dick want to breakdown all over again. When the nurse leaves them he  _does_  fall to his knees. It’s bad. Almost as bad as when he got back from that off-planet mission and was told he’d missed Jason’s funeral by weeks. The only difference is that he has a bedside to kneel in front of this time around instead of a gravestone. It's the only key difference that keeps him from outright shattering.

Dick spends a long time in that waiting chair, lips pressed against soft knuckles as he whispers to his Sparrow until the sun comes up, past that even. (He apologizes for not staying in touch enough, for everything. _He’s sorry, god he’s so sorry, never should've let his troubles with Bruce keep him away, he’ll call more, he'll visit more, he promises, just please wake up, Babs, **please** \--_) The steady beep of her heart monitor makes him feel numb.

A newscast plays in the backdrop some point into the second day _\--Joker back in Arkham--_ it says, mocking him, Dick's stomach does a nauseous roll in his gut as his grip tightens on Barbara’s delicate hand, his teeth make an ugly sound as they grind together and he buries his face against what skin he can reach.

Dick, not for the first time, desperately wishes the Joker were dead.

 

From Batgirl’s ashes emerges Oracle.

Dick is with her every step of the way, from her rehabilitation after the Joker paralyzes her, to her set up in the Clocktower, to the Birds of Prey, Dick is right beside her. Guilt gnaws at his stomach, no matter how often Babs insists that it's not his fault, that she doesn't blame him, it keeps eating him alive. --Until one day, while Dick's resting his head in her lap, she outright tells him to stop looking at her 'like that', like she's a bad memory that needs fixing. Like she's his mistake.

“I’m more than that. I’m stronger than that.” She tells him firmly, "You need to understand that, Dick. You need to let it _go_."

It's an aggressive wake-up call, one that has Dick internally stepping back to take a long, hard, look at himself. Because this isn't about him, it never was--it's about Barbara, it should have always been about Barbara. And Dick... sucks it up. He shoves down his guilt, buries it dead--because Babs is right--she is more than a bad memory. Hell, she's _not_ a bad memory, she isn't Jason either. She's gorgeous, brave and stubborn. And even in a wheelchair, she can still flip him and lay him out flat without hesitation. She's his _Sparrow._  And she's still  _breathing,_ still  _alive_ , and that's all that should matter.

Dick smiles up at her, a real smile. 

“Right. You're absolutely right--you're Barbara Gordon, I'm pretty sure the  _apocalypse_  couldn't keep you down.” He just says not without good humor, lifting his head from her lap to smile up at her fondly, as Babs sniffs in acknowledgment and moves to turn on her screens for the night. "I... believe in you though, you know that, right? Never stopped for a second."

Babs returns his hopeful smile with one of her own, ruffling his hair affectionately, "Of course you do--you believe in _everyone_ that’s yours, Boy Wonder, it's a part of your charm. Now hurry up and get back to focusing on school, kiddo. You've got finals coming up--no time to be wasting time on old maids like me."  
  
Dick snorts, "You're only like three years older than me, Babs."

"I'm still wiser."

"Wiser than the best of us." And he presses a kiss to Babs' knuckles--things are alright between them after that. 

*** 

(Dick finishes his Associate's Degree early with honors, he takes out a loan and opens that agency. It’s not hard to get a loan, not in Gotham where the Waynes’ influence is seeped into the city’s very bones, in its street names, its upper-crust bluebloods, its community. Dick Grayson is his first ward, Bruce Wayne’s heir, Gotham’s darling--bitter as using that persona makes him. Of course, he gets the damn loan.

Standing in his brand new office in Park Row, several months after getting his degree, Dick can only hope he can do Jason’s dream the justice it deserves.)

***

Bruce keeps getting more violent and brutal--at times just plain cruel, even. Babs is worried, _Alfred_  is worried. Dick, having never quite broken the habit of catching the ones he loves, has never stopped worrying for a moment.  But, Bruce is not his responsibility, not anymore. Dick shares his crusade, maybe, but he’s not obligated to go out of his way to help someone who doesn’t seem to want to  _be_  helped … right?  

The beatings get worse, the papers say, Dick wonders what it's going to take for Gordon to dismantle the bat signal, Babs says Bruce has started refusing _all_ help these days, even from her. 

Things come to a head however when a boy with clever eyes that Dick remembers from past Wayne Charity Galas shows up at his office in neatly pressed slacks and a stiff-looking sweater vest. He’s too well-dressed for lower Gotham, too soft in his feathers, sapphire irises too wide and so  _earnest_. God. Gotham would chew him up and spit him back out again.

Dick hopes he gets out of this city.

“Batman needs a Robin,” says the Drakes’ heir immediately upon entering the room as soon as the door closes behind him, voice soft-spoken as he remembers, but there’s a clear stubborn tick in his jaw that’s new--it reminds Dick a bit of Jason. It pikes his curiosity enough to keep him from falling back on the lies and played up civilian ignorance he's used to.

Hell, he can’t even _argue_ with such a crystal clear gaze, it’d be like trying to lie to Big Blue or Wonder Woman.

“Robin is dead,” Dick says bluntly, ignoring the jolt in his gut that still rocks his very core with that admission.

The boy’s gaze doesn’t waver, it's starting to make Dick uncomfortable. “But you need to be Robin, Batman’s out of control. Please, you’ve seen the papers haven’t you?” And Dick has, he keeps up with them almost religiously, “He needs someone to ground him.” The kid continues to press, pushing his way forward, forcing Dick backward with every step he takes.

That someone used to be Dick once upon a time. He recalls how lonely and hard it used to be, trying to hold Bruce together, to catch him when he fell without Jay to be his balance. Thinking of those early days when it was just him, those long days with only hints and glimmers of light among the stifling darkness makes something unpleasant stir in his chest. No one should ever have to shoulder Batman's demons alone, let alone a plucky middle schooler ready to take a city onto his shoulders.

“I can’t be Robin. Not anymore.” Dick says, honestly, because he's hung up the mantel already. "Besides, it takes more than one person to shoulder that burden, kid, believe me.”

The kid’s brows furrow in a childish sort of frustration, it’s kind of endearing... in a cancerous type of way that threatens to creep into Dick’s heart, he always knew this clever boy with the clever eyes was a winner. Good to know his instincts were still sharp. “Not ‘kid’, I’m _Tim_.”

Dick sighs, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face. “Okay, ‘Tim’, listen. Batman doesn’t _need_ Robin, he doesn’t need me either. He’s--”  
  
“Bruce Wayne.”  
  
Who even _is_ this damn kid?

“... Fine. Yes, but he can take care of himself.”  
  
“He’s going to get himself killed. Gotham _needs_ Batman. Batman _needs_ a Robin.”

Dick lets out a kind of dazed laugh,  _(he’s suddenly paranoid--is the office bugged?)_ “What do you want me to do about it?”  
  
“Please. He needs _you_.”

~~(Dick wonders what Jason would’ve done.)~~

***

In the end, the kid breaks him down, Nightwing drops in just in the nick of time to crash a party with Batman and some of Gotham’s finest.

And the damnedest thing happens. When Nightwing comes bursting in through the warehouse skylight? There's a brief moment where he and Batman lock gazes from behind their eye whites, then tentatively, something familiar but not-quite-the-same clicks messily into place. They’ve been fighting together since the beginning, of course, they still remember each other’s tells and combat styles like the backs of their hands.

So, Batman goes high, ~~_Robin_~~ Nightwing goes low.

When things go South, Tim ends up coming to their rescue in a familiar Robin costume that pings something protective and warm in Dick’s chest. Afterward, neither Batman nor Dick can quite remember _how_ the kid convinced them to take him on as the new Robin. Dick knows it's not even Alfred this time, Alfred never liked other people following Bruce’s footsteps.

Tim is endearingly clever and persistent that way, he'll make an amazing Robin, Dick thinks.

  
  
Barbara absolutely  _loves_ Tim, the first time Dick brings him over to the Clocktower partway through his training to introduce them in person. “I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

“You have one.”

“A little brother that _isn’t_ an Arkham inmate.”

“Fair, but still debatable.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as dinner plates, it makes Dick smile--he’s almost jealous. “Holy mackerel, you’re _Batgirl_ \--and oh man what are those systems behind you,” Timmy’s like a kid in a candy store as he weaves out from behind Dick’s back, darting over to give Oracle’s set up a closer look, Dick snorts out an amused laugh. He's been laughing more often since he and Bruce started training Tim. He's even seen Bruce smile once or twice these past few months. Babs had been righteously offended they didn't introduce them in person sooner when she finally spoke to Tim over the comms as Oracle.  
  
“It’s 'Oracle' now, sweetheart,” Babs says primly, obviously showing off for the star-eyed kid geeking out over her workspace, “I’m going to teach you _so much_ about hacking, Dick here is hopeless. Someone between you black-haired Wayne boys needs to be tech-savvy.”

Tim blinks in surprise, cheeks lighting up red. “...Wayne?”  
  
Barbara’s eyes are dancing as she ruffles his hair, “ _Wayne._ Definitely.”  
  
Dick leans against the doorway as he watches the display, something warm curling in his chest, “--And for the record? I’m way above average. You’re just genius level, Babs.”  
  
“ _Hopeless_. You’ll only learn the basics from this gym rat.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
The look Tim shoots Barbara is pure, unadulterated awe before his eyes start  _shining_ all over again. “Wait… _hacking_?”

“See, Dick? It’s the _e_ nthusiasm that makes a difference. Hacking is an _art form_ , you caveman.”

He can only roll his eyes fondly, “... I’m still his favorite.”

“We’ll just have to see about that, Boy Wonder,” Babs replies with a knowing glint in her eyes.

***

A new Robin flies in Gotham. He brings Nightwing and the Bat closer together again--the good Commissioner sees the three of them on the roof together on Tim’s first night out, and he smiles.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you, kid.” (‘Kid’, Dick had always been ‘kid’ to Gordon, Jason had been ‘brat’.)

Nightwing beams, “Miss me, Commish? Worried, dare I say?”  
  
Gordon makes a face at that, scratching at the back of his head in irritation, “You Bats are always a pain in my damn kidneys. Always coming back around, just like clockwork. What’s the saying? Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.”

Dick recoils from under Nightwing’s skin _~~(Jason didn't come back, he never will again--),~~_ but then, Bruce clamps a grounding gauntlet on his shoulder. It reminds him of being small again, of seeing something awful enough on patrol to make him stumble, something that had B wrapping him up in his cloak to shield him from the world. It’s a confusing memory, juxtaposed against the reality that Dick would be turning twenty this year but, oddly enough, it’s somewhat reassuring.

“ _Enough_.” B grumbles above him, it helps Dick remember how to breathe again, “Now, tell us about the case.”

 

It happens a week after Tim starts his debut flying as Robin, and several months since Dick and Bruce have started gradually talking again.

It's just the three of them in the cave, with a napping Tim huddled up against Dick’s side as he tacks away, updating case files on the Batcomputer, the chair is oversized, Tim is small for his age--it works. Oracle had given him a backdoor to the system, but nothing beats being able to compare files across a setup like the Batcave monitors. Bruce is beside him, looking over his work silently, it makes him self-conscious, but something in Dick always feels strung tighter than a bowstring without Tim to act as a common ground between them, so he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m... sorry.”

The words come suddenly and without preamble, like a thug getting a lucky hit with a pipe across the back of Dick’s head. Carefully, his fingers slow, pausing over several keys, against his side, Tim shifts and mumbles something incoherent. Dick mindlessly runs his fingers through the kid’s hair to make him settle again and to remind himself of where he is.

“...What did you just say?” Because Batman doesn’t say sorry unless things are _dire_. It’s been a successful night, a quiet night--Dick can’t recall anything that would prompt an _apology_. It makes his head spin.

“About everything that happened--after… after Jason.” Batman continues, stiff and haltingly, Dick kind of wants him to stop, to beg him to let him take a breath, and slow down. “Back then, I shouldn’t have shut down like that, I shouldn’t have…” Bruce gets a pained look in his eyes, as he peels off Batman’s cowl. “I _never_ should’ve laid a hand on you, Dick. _Son_ , I’m sorry.”

Dick stares at him blankly, his domino is off too, then it hits him, that this is _Bruce Wayne_ apologizing to _Dick Grayson_ , no masks, no barriers, just… the two of them. It feels like forever since it's just been ‘Dick’ and ‘Bruce’. A long silence passes between them as Dick absently looks down at Tim’s peaceful expression, he focuses on that, as he answers. He can't meet Bruce's eyes right now, otherwise, he'll breakdown and he can't do that. Not here, not _now_.

“I’ve… forgiven you for a long time, I think,” he swallows, struggling to come up with the words because they don't  _talk_ about Jason anymore, not really. “I shouldn’t have said that to you in the first place, B. About Jason’s…” he sucks in a deep shuddering breath, starts again, “about how things went down with the Joker and blaming you for it. I was grieving and angry and  _I’m_ sorry. Thought you,” Dick fidgets with Tim’s hair voice dropping to something soft and quiet. “Thought you didn’t care anymore. That you’d never want to talk to me again, after what I said in the cave that day--"

A large hand reaches out to him, slow and cautious like Dick’s a caged animal Bruce is trying not to startle. “It was  _never_  your fault, son. The fact that you think it was... I... It says more about the mistakes I've made, more than it does about you."

“But I--”

“ _Never_. I brought you into this life, you and Jason both. I chose to train you, I chose to make you both my partners, it was  _always_  on me. And you've never failed to make me proud,” B pulls him close, a familiar cloak of black envelopes his upper body and his line of sight from the stark lighting of the cave. Dick feels himself start to tremble, and  _fuck he'd been doing so well too--_ "Some days I feel like you're the only thing I've ever done right."  
  
“B--”  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
“ _Dad..._  ”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Dick.”

“I… I  _missed_  you, Dad." It feels almost freeing, to finally admit it after several years of terse greetings and tense silences. "But you... you just--it felt like. Like I was  _nothing_ , you let me leave without even a word like I was  _nothing_ \--like you didn't raise me just as much as...asmy _parents_  did--”

“I know, son, I’m sorry.” Gauntleted gloves smooth over the back of Dick’s curls, and it feels like a weight lifting itself off of his shoulders. “I’m so, so, sorry, chum.”

Tim wakes up somewhere between Dick’s hitching hiccups and the start of his quiet sobbing, thin arms startle him by hugging around his middle _tight_ , reeling him in anxiously. “... Dick?”  
  
Dick’s got his cheek resting against Bruce’s armored chest, eyes red-rimmed, face a blotchy mess, and he lets out a watery sort of laugh when Tim murmurs his concern, “I’m fine Timmy, just fine.”  
  
“You’re _crying_.”  
  
“Astute deduction, little Einstein,” Dick says rubbing at his still-watering eyes and nose as he teasingly flicks Tim’s forehead with a free hand. “You want a prize? Maybe some ice cream. I think we could all go for a little ice cream tonight. I'm sure Alfie's in the kitchen.” Tim's frown only deepens, the kid always hates being left out of the loop. 

(Out of the corner of his eye, he notices B’s lip quirking into the softest of smiles. It’s enough to make Dick grin.)

***

_"Sooo, on a scale of one to ten how often am I going to get that kind of honest emotional vulnerability from you?"_

_"Negative one. I'm all out of emotional vulnerability for the next three years at least, don't get used to it."_

_"Fair enough. Missed you to bits, boss."_

_"I... missed you too, son."_

 

***

  
Dick is thoroughly convinced that Batman having more than one Robin must be a staple of a stable timeline in this universe because honestly, this is getting ridiculous.

 

“The psychos _just_ keep getting younger,” Nightwing says cheerfully as Robin peeks out from around his back with a frown, gripping the back of his black and blue uniform anxiously.

“Who is that.” 

Dick looks down at Tim and shrugs, weighing the stolen katana idly. “Dunno,” the boy in question screams a war cry as he drags his feet up from under him and charges for Nightwing, who grins boldly, rocking forwards on the balls of his feet.

“But, if nothing else, I guess we’re about to find out, eh, Robin?”

 

Later, when the mystery boy is finally subdued, suspended harmlessly in a grapple line and shouting some choice words about Dick’s mother--Dick finds himself disgruntled and covered in slashes from a blade that _really shouldn’t be able to cut his fibers, dammit._  Dick dials up B.   
  
“Missing something?”  
  
“Not in the mood for games tonight, Nightwing.”  
  
“I’ve got a kid here,” Tim drops down from his safe perch from above on a rusty fire escape to study the wriggling boy more closely, “says he’s your son--Imagine that. Something you forgot to share with the class, Papa Bear?”

“... Be right there.”  
  
“ _Fantastic_ ,” Nightwing responds, voice dry as the Sahara and promptly ends the call.

As Tim circles the new kid like a curious kitten, Dick watches the proceedings with a raised eyebrow and a distinct sense of deja vu he can’t quite place. “Are we keeping him?” Robin finally asks, sounding rightfully skeptical.

“You know how Bruce is,” Dick responds and Tim winces, pointing an accusing finger at the snarling boy who immediately lashes out, trying to snap at it. Tim pulls his hand back, making a face.

“B-But he’s so…”  
  
“...Yeah.”

“And he’s also _so--!_ ”  
  
“Believe me, I _know_.”

They both turn to look back at the struggling preteen spitting curses in Arabic, a language Dick is grateful Tim’s still only at a toddler level with, because _Jesus,_ this kid’s vocabulary is worse and more biting than a sailor’s, and those are just including the insults Dick has the cultural context for. Some of the threats he just straight up doesn’t _recognize_.

“... Hey, look on the bright side! Maybe you’ll have a partner, after all, baby bird!” Dick finally says optimistically after a too-long, too-awkward pause. Tim’s face crumples in utter despair.

_“Oh, please **god** , no.” _

 

***

“ _Fuck Slade Wilson_ , seriously--”

“Dick it’s been three hours, we're home now. Let it go--”

“You don’t understand Timmy, _fuck_ that guy and fuck his Man-Bat **_bullshit_** - _-a_ nd you know what? Fuck Ra’s Al Ghul while I’m at it, for even starting this mess in the first place, do you know how busy I am, Timmy?”

“Yes, Dick, you have laid it out for me four separate times now within the past ninety minutes alone.”  
  
“--Three personal cases are riding my _ass_  right now, I’m leading the Titans, I volunteer at the soup kitchen in East End Monday-Wednesday, _and_ I teach the kids gymnastics at the community center on Fridays. Do you _know_ how much time and fucks I have to give for _Slade-fucking-Wilson_ and his half-cocked, revenge plots towards an eleven-year-old assassin, Timbers?”

“None, Dick.”   
  
“That is absolutely right _none,_ and now thanks to his **_bullshit_** _, I’m gonna be behind for weeks,”_ _  
_

“You’re cursing a lot, Dick.”

 _“_ And don’t you  _dare_ repeat  ** _any_**  of it. Also, I’m not  _done._ Who the hell decides an army of Man-Bat Clones is a sustainable business venture?  _Who?_  That's so weirdly specific! Why are all of our Rouges like this--"

Timmy just sighs and flips open his laptop to get a headstart on logging the case files. It's going to be a long week.   
  
***

 

  
They end up training Tim and Damian side by side after the designated mess of the week is finally sorted out and Talia leaves Damian in Bruce's care to rebuild the League. Tim needs to be retrained with a partner in mind, and Damian needs to be retrained around using non-lethals.

Damian is cocky and sure of himself, skilled with the intelligence of a whip--short and broad for his age, but a brat through and through. Tim is quiet and thoughtful with a penchant for detective work, short and slim for his age, starved for approval and attention. Dick sometimes sees himself and Jason watching them at times. He’s sure B sees it too--there’s a time when Damian says the words:  _“He deserved it.”_ With such familiar conviction that it fucks up Dick’s entire equilibrium for a straight week; he knows it affects B too, because that very night, B suddenly goes away on Justice League business for a solid  _two weeks_ before even attempting to come back and train the two again.

Tim adds armored leggings and knee pads to the uniform because he can’t stick most of Dick’s landings safely enough for the leotard to be sensible mobility-wise. Damien adds a cloaked hood and combat boots with far more green than Jay had ever allowed in his mostly red uniform.

 _Unlike_ him and Jason, however, Tim and Damian fight each other like a pair of feral cats stuffed together in a sack. They’re a balance to each other in a different sort of way. The two of them are all barbs for the most part, with no rounded angles or soft edges, sparring leaves the both of them bruised and bloody--it gets so bad that Bruce has to implement a ‘first blood’ rule on spars between them within that first week. Not to mention that they argue over  _everything_ , from the literature that they like to read, to shooting into scholarly philosophical debates that make Dick’s head _hurt_ , all the way down to which combat style is the most sensible.

(Yet sometimes, Dick will still find them post-patrol, tucked together under a blanket like two kittens in a corner in the Batcave with Tim’s laptop. During these nights there’ll be muted snipes at each other with minimal venom, and genuine suggestions disguised as petty arguments about Tim’s fighting stance with light jabs at Damian’s reckless tendencies to disguise the underlying concern mixed in. They fall asleep like that a few times, Alfred is sneaky enough to take pictures. Dick gets into scrapbooking, it's a nice pastime.)

The differences make Dick feel relieved. He starts to think maybe, just maybe, these two will be more prepared than he and Jason ever were for this hell-city with its polluted sky and starless nights.

As if to add to that tentative flicker of hope, once Tim and Damian get used to each other's fighting styles and habits it's as though they gain a shaky foundation of respect for one another. There’s no more arguing during battle simulations, no more bickering during patrol nights, either--the thing Dick had honestly worried about most widdles down to somewhat barbed but harmless banter. And watching their dynamic  _click_ , and shift in tandem to complement the other in the field is like seeing a well-oiled machine get to work. Damian’s katana is the sharp and brutal edge to the graceful sweeping movements of Tim’s bo, Tim's bo is the levelheaded disarming breeze to Damian's harsh, cutthroat precision. They’re a different duo than he and Jason ever were, devastating, clever, resourceful.

Dick loves them. He wants them to grow past his colors. He wants to see both of them  _soar_. In a way, he's glad and worried--worried because these are just more warm bodies for Gotham to put through the wringer, more people that Dick considers 'his' to put in harm's way, but he's also glad because Robin isn’t dead, not truly. His colors might be a little bloody, a little unlucky, but Dick promises himself that this time, this time for sure--he'd protect them. Keep them safe under his wing. He'll make sure they never fall.

(Gordon had been right, ‘like a phoenix’.)

Somehow, spotting the tiny differences is enough to keep Dick moving forward. ‘Baby steps’. That’s what Donna and Alfie kept saying. And if he and B are more protective of these two birds? If they beat down Dent just a little harder whenever he so much as looks in either boys’ directions, or mentions the name 'Robin'? If Wayne Enterprises donates a hefty sum towards the annual upkeeps to Arkham Asylum’s security system every few months to keep _him_ from ever seeing the light of day?

Well, that overprotectiveness is kind of a given, isn’t it? Considering what happened to the last robin that fell from the nest. 

  
.

.

  
.

 

Somewhere in Germany, a man whistles a familiar show tune about a flying trapeze as he hikes his arms up under the limp body of his former ‘mentor’ and drags him back into a winter cabin. The title, even without saying it out loud, is enough to leave him scoffing. No, 'mentor' wasn’t the right word, ‘stepping stone’ sounded more accurate, or maybe ‘means to an end’-- either way it doesn’t matter anymore.

Egon is already dead. 

The man would know--he’d mixed Egon’s energy drink with the toxin he made himself. The chemist he'd studied under before had done wonders for refining his knowledge of poisons.

Gloved hands get to work, busily hooking up a series of explosives among the perimeter of various buildings in the compound over the course of no less than an hour, leaving the corpse unceremoniously dumped in a corner of that cozy wood cabin. The man always prided himself on being brutally efficient--his recently deceased teacher said as much throughout his month-long ‘internship’ (while sealing his fate, whispering about the deals involving children in a language Egon thought the man was too rich and ignorant to know of, speaking of human lives, _children_ , like they were simple _livestock,_ right in front of him.)

The man takes out a cigarette and lights it with the match he uses to start the fuse on his way out.

The resulting explosion is a spectacular butterfly effect. But his teacher wasn't an explosives expert; it's the man's first time working with them, in fact. His sponsor had said that an explosives expert would be his _next_ stop.  
  
Idly, knowing he's taken care of the rest of the loose ends, the man allows himself a moment or several to bask in the destruction he’s left in his wake. He warms himself in the heat of the biting hellfire blaze; winters in Germany are much crueler and more biting than Gotham’s, his gloves are fingerless.

Later when the fire has burned itself out and he turns to disappear back into the treeline, there will be a jeep on a road that he’d moved in advance, with more than enough gas to get back to civilization. Hopefully, his next teacher could prove themselves even slightly more redeemable than Egon--looking out at the blizzard hazed skyline of the isolated wood the man finds he doubts this. But that doesn’t matter either, he has a special meeting to get to first thing in the morning. He needs to leave immediately if he wants to be on time.  
  
_(Making his way towards the snow jeep the man thinks of a warm smile, it's clearer in his mind's eye, now that his head is on straighter; he thinks of mesmerizing electric blues and tanned golden skin. He remembers seeing the features, on a slightly older face in the files that were given to him, a part of him that’s still that starry-eyed Gotham street rat wonders what those eyes might look like in person. The man fears he’s starting to forget.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it doesnt matter the universe, dick grayson will always be perpetually doing the Most™ (somebody help him--)
> 
> a bit of a softer interlude chapter with some 2nd gen baby robins before the lengthy red hood arc  
> And again! Thank you all so much for the sweet comments and encouragement, I honestly wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reception? (as always apologies for any typos that I missed)


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an unfamiliar bird in Dick's henhouse and Dick is deeply unamused. Then things get complicated.

♬

Dick Grayson probably breaks all kinds of laws as a private eye, honestly.

Building a reputation in the Lower Gotham is an exercise in integration; it's not terribly hard to get people to like Dick Grayson, hell, _Dick Grayson_ can tell you that. Stubborn and persistent as the ever undaunted Vicki Vale herself in all things--he’s got a shining personality, and a reputation for tackling messy divorces and domestic abuse cases with vigor, and it doesn't exactly _hurt_ that he works stupid cheap to boot, especially for residents in the Narrows who tend to slip through the legal system's cracks more often than not. He goes above and beyond to resolve every single case he's given no matter what’s brought to him, from kidnapped children caught between custody agreements to getting all up and personal with mob conflicts, Dick Grayson has _never failed_  with a case.

Breaking and entering to get potential evidence to hand off to the GCPD? Done it. Undercover work? Done that too. Relocating a battered wife and her kids from a man with too much influence in Gotham’s underground? Dick Grayson’s your man, he’ll do jobs like that for free. Inexplicably circumventing the Mob’s increasingly numerous hits and assassination attempts on his person to the point where most syndicates have given up on trying? All in a day's work for one of the least crooked detectives in Gotham.

As previously mentioned, most of the things above are indeed  _very_ illegal lengths for a right-minded private detective to go to for a simple case. But, well, Dick has never claimed to be 'right-minded'. Logical? Yes. Talented? Better than most. --No 'right-minded' person would run around some of the nastiest parts of Gotham in a skintight kevlar bodysuit calling themselves a character from an alien fairytale; at his core, Dick has always been a vigilante, he may not be judge, jury, or executioner when it came to justice, but no one ever said anything about playing 'informant'. And he was damn good at it too. 

There are even rumors saying that the good Commissioner himself offered him a job at his department (he did) and that Dick Grayson refused it outright, to keep working in his small, hardly profitable, detective agency in the worst part of the city (he did this as well), no one understands what goes in or out of that optimistic head of his. At this point, people are too used to his sunny presence to truly mind his eccentricities. --But either way, ask anyone in Lower Gotham at large, and you won’t find a single person who would call the foolish, upbeat, all too generous private detective untrustworthy, and for a place as crooked and broken as Park Row? That is more than can be said for anyone else.

 

“Why aren’t you a cop, Dick? You practically do the work of one but with none of the salary.”

Tim asks one day, in the midst of an intense spar. He’s got Dick in an almost pin with his training bo as Damian wipes his face down with a sweat towel from the sidelines, taking their match in with sharp gems of intelligent emerald. Dick swears both of them get closer to besting him every day, _it’s adorable._

He shrugs at Tim’s question before, “It’s actually pretty straight forward, it wasn’t my idea. Wouldn't you know? I really did want to enter the police academy, straight out of high school...” then, smiling sweetly, Dick smoothly kicks up his legs in an impressive show of flexibility, wrapping them around Tim’s neck in a choke hold and flipping their positions, keeping the conversation going with a distracted tick in his tone. “But a while back someone had the good sense tell me it was a 'bad idea', you see,” he says with a thoughtful hum as he squeezes, “so, I decided to follow his advice, for once.  
  
"That, someone, was always a bigger picture kind of guy, I'm good at planning but I'm a reactionary animal at heart..." Dick's smile eases up into something more genuine, as his voice fades off into something softer, "he was... I dunno. He was always thinking ahead. He was one of those types who could actually  _give you_ a well-constructed answer when you asked him where he saw himself in ten years... He really was something special, best partner I've ever had." Damian frowns from where he's eavesdropping at the edge of the mats.

"Richard... this person, was he...?" Damian trails off with a constipated look on his face that sort of reminds Dick of Bruce, the way his eyes flicker over to the other side of the cave, ~~( _towards the memorial case_ )~~ gives Dick the incentive to take pity on the poor kid. Despite all of their combined efforts, communication still wasn't Damian's strong suit.

Dick hums vaguely, opting to deflect instead of answering directly, "Even if he was, that's not the point. I'm _trying_ to impart some important big brother life advice here, Little D."

Tim meanwhile continues to struggle in his hold, Dick doesn’t let him up until his brother frowns in frustration and smacks the mat thrice in surrender. “Why a _private eye_ , though? You could’ve gotten a desk job at the GCPD, it would’ve been more discreet...” he asks, just splayed out on the mats like a particularly wrung out starfish, Dick offers him a hand up with a playful grin.

“People in Lower Gotham trust private businesses more than they do state systems. They may not trust the cops that fail them over and over again, but they will trust a friendly face that volunteers at their soup kitchens and lives in their grandmother’s apartment complex.” Dick tosses a towel Tim’s way, “Trust gives birth to _hope_ , baby bird, and people in the Narrows, I figure, need a whole lot of both of those things.”

Tim blinks in surprise at that, then falls into a thoughtful silence as he tosses the towel over his shoulders, “... So, you’re trying to bring ‘hope’ to Lower Gotham... by being a detective in Park Row?”

“One foot in front of the other, Timbers! It’ll carry you a long way.” Dick grins, ruffling up Tim’s sweat-caked locks as the other boy warbles in a mix of irritation and distress, swatting him away. “Even making the of smallest changes to your behavior, like offering a smile when someone scowls at you on the street or tossing some litter you see on the sidewalk into a trash bin, or stopping to buy that homeless guy a week's worth of groceries can change things for the better.”

Tim and Damian both blink eerily in unison, Damian had come trotting over at some point towards the end of their conversation. “What does _that_ mean, then? Going about societal change by way of something as unreliable and fickle as  _human sentiment_ of all things sounds like more trouble than its payoff, Grayson.” Damian says with a click of his tongue, while Tim just goes silent and contemplative again, it makes Dick’s smile grow.

“Baby steps, Dami. It’s all about the baby steps.” 

***

 

Somewhere between the third elderly Irish woman with weathered hands bringing baked goods to Dick’s office at lunchtime, the second group of filthy street kids that catch Dick on one of his daytime intel gatherings to pull him into a game of craps, and chatting casually with some of the call girls he can suddenly remember by name… Dick realizes that Park Row is _his_. Before long the Narrows are too.

It’s not even a surprise at this point, really. It was only a matter of time before he picked up another one of Bruce’s bad habits--at least he latched onto something manageable like a district. Dick kind of shudders to think about how he'd cope if he’d chosen an entire _city_.

 

***

There’s a new player in Gotham and Dick’s patrol is proving rather uneventful when he runs into them completely by chance. 

He perches on a fire escape in Crime Alley as he observes the proceedings happening below. Dick catalogs the basics--the man in the helmet, the cowering men with bloody faces, the monologuing whilst (unsafely) waving around a custom Desert Eagle in one hand (the other one, Dick notes, is still holstered). The man has a broader build than his definitely, built like a bruiser, but still shorter than B... The scene doesn’t look like a robbery, it looks more in line with a shakedown or a drug dispute, maybe?

Either way, Nightwing isn’t one for waiting around to find out.

“Hey, there handsome! What can I do to get you to put that gun down for me?” Nightwing calls from above, falling into a dead drop with a few self-indulgent flips meant to show off as he lands soundly in the grimy alleyway. The thugs look to him as though they might just start outright weeping in relief.

_Huh. Well, that’s something you don’t see every day._

The man in the helmet goes a deathly still, “Fuck,” a metallic voice snarls, “not _you_.” He keeps one gun trained to a thug’s forehead as he straightens his posture.

Nightwing’s smile is all teeth as he twirls his batons with ease, “Ye--p!” he says and playfully pops the ‘p’, “ _Me_.”

The eye holes in the red helmet re-adjust and narrow, the silence is curiously deafening as the mystery man doesn’t say another word. Nightwing knocks the toes of his boots against the cement and rolls back his shoulders with an inaudible pop. Something about the body language, with how the man  _loosens_  so suddenly and how that observation pings ‘familiar’ and ‘danger’ in the back of Dick’s brain. It makes his blood start singing, as he rocks forward on the balls of his feet. _(He’s been getting antsy lately. He’s always antsy when the date for Jason’s anniversary starts coming up.)_

“You’re the new rising crime lord on the block, right? Good fashion sense, gaudy helmet, leather jacket-- is that genuine leather by the way? I can’t tell from here,” Dick makes a show of tapping his finger against his chin with an idle hum, “I’ve heard some _really_ nasty rumors about you, Red Hood. I’ve actually been starting to think it’s high time I came and found you myself. Imagine my luck when I ran right into you during my regular patrol route. Must be my lucky day.

“You _are_ in my territory, new faces in my territory make me nervous, you understand, right?”

That, for some reason garners a scoff, "It's a free city, ain't it?" The man says holstering his gun and reeling backward on his heels, one of the thugs with an obviously broken nose tries to let out a pitiful sound, Nightwing winces as the crime lord promptly rams a steel-toed boot into his jaw without even once breaking eye contact. _Hell. He's going to end up having to call a few ambulances tonight it looks like._ "Either way--doesn't matter. I got my point across," he inclines his head towards the whimpering men. 

"How's about we do ourselves a favor and pretend this never happened, hmm?"

But Dick pushes on, forcing himself to remain unfazed, “Actually, I think I’d rather have a few words with you,”

The man crosses his arms, posture tensing up. “Funny, I’d rather have none with you, _Birdman,_ ” Nightwing's face twists into an expression caught between a scowl and a pout.

“It’s _Nightwing,_  handsome. You sure know how to charm a room, unlucky you, I don’t consider myself ‘easy’.” As he advances, the man drops into a ready stance, obviously sensing the predator behind Nightwing’s prowl. It piques Dick’s curiosity, only family and people like Slade Wilson notice subtle queues like his. The average Gotham thug usually falls for the lighthearted banter behind his mask. His voice hardens, “Afraid I’m gonna have to take you in, what a shame.”  _A crime to humanity with abs like that, how much of that bulk is body armor?_

Then, quick as lightning Nightwing  _moves_ , and the man shocks him by moving with him. He’s wearing body armor, Nightwing notes, as a brutal fist whizzes just past his cheek and the man promptly deflects a disarming jab of his baton. Every hit that Nightwing lands the man tosses right back with something a little extra, but he still seems to be avoiding direct contact. It makes the detective in Dick frown as he slowly notices the Red Hood _defending_ more than he’s threatening, he’d noticed a very real hostility with the drug pushers from earlier that's just plain _absent_ with him. ~~(Why did he holster his guns? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just aim for his legs?)~~

But despite all of this, Dick's blood is still _singing._ It feels like it's been forever since someone has been able to match him like this.

One hit almost gets him in the throat and Dick deflects it without a pause, he lifts a leg up past his waist and goes to slam it into the other’s side--Hood catches it with a single gloved hand and tosses Dick backward to regain their distance. Hit for hit, for hit, the crime lord matches Nightwing's blows without pause or falter, and the real insult? He doesn't even go for the right openings, Dick even does something reckless and leaves obvious ones for him. But in fact, the man purposefully _prioritizes_ nonlethal blows. It’s _frustrating_. It’s _exhilarating._  But being held back on feels and _is_ a slight that leaves Nightwing growling low and aggressive, hitting back harder, _faster._ \--The realization brings with it a sense of Deja Vu, like Dick’s been here before, with an equally hesitant sparring partner.

 

_Jay! Stop holding back, it’s not like I’m made of glass or anything._

_In your dreams, you totally twisted your knee on patrol last night, don’t think I didn’t see you wipe out, Golden Boy._

 

The sudden memory makes Dick falter and Nightwing stumble, he’s distracted long enough for Hood to get a solid hit to the middle of his chest, slamming Dick back into the alley brick in a way that punches his labored breaths right out of his lungs. Dick feels his lips curl in a grimace as he tries to regain his footing, muscles coiling in preparation for jumping right back into the fray.

“--Take these guys in,” the distorted voice cuts in, sudden enough to startle Nightwing out of his ready stance.

“... Excuse me?”

Hood seems frustrated with him right then, entire body language tensing up again his loose and relaxed posture from earlier that screamed  _danger_  immediately dissipating, “They’ve been selling laced shit to sixth graders. They’re grunts who don’t have the intel I’m looking for--so they’re all yours, Birdboy, ain’t that sweet of me?”

Nightwing frowns, “I don’t understand--”

“Let’s hope you never have to.”

And then, before Dick can argue or manage so much as a blink, the other man snatches several pellets out of his jacket in a flash and within the span of a few moments, during that slim handful of seconds between when smoke suddenly sparks and bellows from the bombs and Nightwing instantly goes for his rebreather, the man uses his grapple to zip out of the alleyway without further preamble. 

Dick looks down at the shaken thugs as soon as the smoke clears with no Red Hood in sight, adrenaline gone, he can already feel the soreness and aches creeping into his muscles. With an irritated breath blown out through his nose, Dick promptly taps his comm, resolving to call an ambulance later as no one seems to be immediately dying on his watch, at least. “ _O_ , love of my life, my beautiful raspberry sparrow, my sister from another mother--”

“What do you _want,_  Boy Blunder?” 

“... The Narrows have a new crime lord running around. Just 'met' him tonight--got the rumors confirmed. But I’m also kinda swamped with cases right now, think you can get me some more refined intel?”  
  
“Sure thing I've got the time, but awful cute of you, for the record. Implying that I don’t already do eighty percent of your intel filter running regardless. You’re so lacking in self-awareness it’s adorable.”

“ _Rude!_ ”

 

_(Misplaced nostalgia buzzes insistently in back of his mind, Dick has a heavy feeling in his gut.)_

 

***

Bruce is cagey and reserved when Dick brings up his findings on the Red Hood, this does absolutely nothing to alleviate Dick's worries. 

They’re both perched on an abandoned rooftop overlooking Park Row--it used to be an antique shop, Dick believes. B goes still, as soon as the mere name is mentioned, cape wafting in the Gotham night air as he stares down hard at an equally tense Dick.

It reminds him of that lengthy period of silence and tension immediately following Jason’s death. He feels anxious.

“B-”

“I _said_ , I’ll take care of it. Take a break Nightwing, you’ve been running yourself ragged enough already.”

He’s speaking in the Batman voice, Dick flinches hard at the clear dismissal, so much so that that it cycles back round to a familiar  _anger._  His voice drops in a low offended hiss. “ _Bruce--_ ”

A gauntleted hand rests heavy on his shoulder, the contact is familiar and usually grounding, right now the wave of comfort juxtaposed against Dick’s turbulent emotions just serves to confuse him, renders him silent. “You have more important things to focus on, right now. Work on cleaning up the Narrows, work on your cases, you _will_ leave this to me.” And with those parting words, without even waiting on a response, Batman leaps off the roof with a sweep of his cape.

Dick feels like a chastised child all over again. He’d been wrong--this wasn’t the same silence from after Jason’s death, not really. The way he’s treated feels closer to the aftermath of their run-in with _Dent._

_Angry. Overprotective. Smothering._

Which really just begs the question--what exactly was B trying to protect him from?

 

***

 

Nightwing keeps digging, he owes so many favors to Babs at this point it’s starting to get ridiculous.

In addition, Detective Grayson's been running himself into the ground with an investigation in relation to _multiple_ runaway cases he’s starting to suspect may have to do with some of the new gangs that have been cropping up in the Narrows lately. And that's not even touching all the  _mafia_ toes the crime lord seems dead-set on stepping on as of late. Actually, _a lot_ of Dick’s cases keep on leading back to the mayhem Red Hood keeps dredging up in Lower Gotham, it’s kind of starting to piss him off. 

Bruce’s standoffishness over the matter does absolutely nothing to help matters (as per usual) and every day Dick fears he grows ever closer to ripping the stubborn bastard's head right off.

One night, on a routine patrol, he runs across a petty gang war. Perched high on a four-story above, he spies a scrawny little street kid he _knows,_  hiding behind a dumpster in an alleyway. Even from above, Dick knows the kid is weighing his odds between taking his chances darting out into the line of fire to get home or staying put and hoping a stray bullet doesn't hit him anyways.

Ryan's a good kid, Dick gives him and his big sister candy when they come knocking on his office window. _(Why is he alone, did he wander off? Riley's going to hate herself if he gets hurt, or hell, **worse** on her watch--)_

Needless to say, the decision isn’t hard. _(Ryan is a good kid, he's told Dick he wants to be an astronaut someday.)_

He weaves into the fray, studiously incapacitating anyone in his sights as he makes a beeline for the wide-eyed kid who's favorite candy is skittles--the sour ones. Detective Grayson always picks them up whenever he has the chance. The thought of having no reason to buy them anymore only spurs Nightwing on--he doesn't stop or breath until he reaches the dumpster and the kid is safely in his arms--he's got him propped on his hip now. _Brave kid,_ he tells him,  _you were so, so, brave._

"You're going to be okay, I promise." Dick says, and quivering, the boy nods his head. "Nightwing doesn't tell lies, so you can trust me, yeah?" Again, the boy nods, this time his little arms wind tightly around his neck.

With that, Dick carries him the rest of the way out of the alley and upon setting him down, firmly tells him to run for the Chapel and not to come back around here again. _Things are dangerous lately,_ he says, _don't go out alone._ And he sends him off. His eyes stay focused on that retreating back until the little boy he’s in charge of turns the corner safely. But he's not paying attention. He doesn't notice how close the previously thought distant gunshots have gotten to his vicinity, too preoccupied in his relief.

Nightwing lets his guard down. 

Dick hears exactly three deafening  _pops_ in quick succession, there's no way to tell which one hits him in the end. First comes the impact, then comes the shock as he stumbles and sees a spot on his uniform darkening, _spreading_ \-- _midsection, no exit wound..._ his dazed brain supplies--then the  _painburning **agony**_ hits him and its enough to bring Dick straight to his knees.

 

(Someone gets a lucky shot where his fibers are thin. It’s _bad_.)

 

***

 

“You stupid son of a _bitch_ ,” Dick fades in and out of consciousness, the voice is familiar and modulated, “the fuck brings batons to a gunfight. _Saints alive,_  birdie, can’t even bother to wear proper body armor--”

Even with the filter, the tone of the words are familiar somehow, it reminds him of someone, someone _important_ \--Dick responds on reflex, voice scrubbed bare of Nightwing’s subtle singsong, in its place a soft whisper, a dazed croak.

“Jay…?” His eyelids droop drunkenly and the voice above him goes a little strangled and frantic.

 _Stay awake._ The voice just orders hoarsely, the metallic filter is gone now, it really reminds him of… no, that can’t be right, that boy is dead has been for a long time now… He must be babbling out loud because that achingly familiar voice keeps responding: _I’m whoever hell you want me to be that’ll keep you awake, a’right? Just stay with me, dammit. You’re a fighter ain’t you, Dickie? So_ **_fight_** _._

Strong, steady arms scoop themselves behind his back and the backs of his knees. The floating feeling he’s been coasting on is immediately ripped from him like a particularly painful hangnail and Dick clenches his teeth as he’s _lifted._ He gasps out hard and fast as his fingers scrabble and wrestle to push away from a firm chest, it’s a response steeped in raw panic and pain. _( ~~Hurtshurtshurtshurts--)~~_

 _Shhh._ Says the voice, but Dick still can’t find a breath, he might be sobbing, his cheeks are wet and there’s salt on his tongue. _Shhh. You’re strong, you can hang on for me can’t you Dickie--course you can. No more dead robins, ya’hear?_

The edges of Dick’s vision fade to black oblivion.

The voice ticks up higher and more panicked as Dick’s eyesight starts to waver, every blink becoming a chore--but Dick can’t seem to find the strength to weave together the words anymore, let alone understand them. So, with burning in his middle and a comfort that pings familiarity, Dick allows himself to drift and thenfall.

It's a nice sort of falling, like the serene feeling that follows whenever Dick takes a leap, when he's sailing through the air right before his line catches-- _freefall._

 

***

 _“...ray...son!”_    
_  
__"--not responding--"_

 _“--eed that shot of adrenaline--”_  
  
_“--oding again...”_

_“ **Dick…!** ”_

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

When Dick wakes, there’s a warmth on both of his sides _\--_ his intuitive brain he can never quite shut off helpfully provides a quick rundown: _Batcave, Medbay,_   _IV line, steady beep--no, a heart monitor, numb side..._

Patrol… had to be a patrol-related accident because Richie Grayson would be at Gotham Memorial otherwise. Dick’s frown deepens as he glances down at the twin heads of raven black hair tucked against his sides. Timmy’s on his right, Dami’s on his left--must’ve been _real_ bad this time around if Alfred and Leslie let them stay.

Then everything hits him at once, like a bludgeon to the head, Dick tries to sit up too quickly but finds his breath leaves him like a gut punch. Pain shoots through his midsection with a vengeance and his vision goes white for a moment.

“ _F...ffuc--_ ”

“.... Dick?” There’s a low gravelly voice from the shadows beyond the Medbay before Batman sweeps in with all of his caped and cowled glory. As soon as he spots Dick, his shoulders slump in visible relief, before he tenses again, already gearing up for a lecture.

Dick is, again, reminded of the Dent fiasco, absently he runs his fingers through Tim and Dami’s hair. Damian’s never this close usually, it’s a rare treat. He hangs onto that fuzzy feeling, he hopes it’ll keep him calm for _this_ conversation.

“Did a number on myself this time, huh, B?”

Bruce yanks down his cowl in a violent, jerking motion, he’s scowling, “... You almost lost a section of your kidney.”

_Ah. So that’s why his midsection feels like pain and burning._

“I’m fine B. I’m awake, aren’t I?”

He sees the bristling and has the time to brace himself, before the hissing and snarling both come in reproachful waves, “Someone pressed your distress beacon and dropped you off on a rooftop close to _my route._ ” That gives Dick a pause.

“Who.”  
  
“Oracle says based on the surveillance footage it was the Red Hood,” Bruce says stiffly.

_Well, fiddlesticks._

“I told you _t_ o keep _away_ from him. Not get involved in his gang wars, Nightwing--alone and without backup, no less.”

Dick frowns, nose wrinkling in irritation, “Don’t pull the Batman voice when I’m hopped up on painkillers B, there was a kid in the crossfire, I _had_ to, you would've done the same thing,” then something occurs to him, Dick pauses, before his eyes promptly widen and he struggles to sit up again, furiously pushing past the burning pain, “ _Shit,_  Ryan. I need to see if he’s alright--”

“Unnecessary,” Bruce says, stiffly.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Barbara looked into it. The boy’s safe and sound at the Chapel with his sister.” Something inside of Dick eases and he slumps back down into the stiff bedsheets of the cot. 

“Okay… Right. Good. Thank goodness...” Dick scrubs a hand over his face as Bruce frowns again, " _Thank goodness..._ " He makes a mental note to give Ryan an extra packet of sours next time he sees the kid because  _Jesus_...

“... Nonetheless, I believe you should spend your recovery upstairs, in the manor.” The younger man’s eyes narrow.

“What do you _mean_ the manor--? No. Absolutely not, Bruce, it’s a gunshot wound, I’ll heal up just fine. Might just be outta the game for a few months. I’ve got cases piling up, _work_ to do.”  
  
“This isn’t negotiable, Dick.”  
  
"I'm almost _twenty-one-years-old_ Bruce, you can't just--" Dick bristles, preparing to argue further when, suddenly, Tim stirs, which by proxy wakes Damian. He winces when Tim’s eyes get all wide and watery when they meet his.

“ _Dick..._ ” his little brother breathes, frozen stiff.

“ _Grayson._ ” Damian, in contrast, snaps immediately to attention, and shoots up in bed to search Dick’s face for a long, fretful moment, “...I will call Pennyworth to check your vitals,” and with that, he’s off like a shot out of the Medbay before Dick can so much as grit out a reassurance.

Bruce is expressionless, aside from a single eyebrow raise as Timmy’s eyes fill the rest of the way and he tucks his face into Dick’s collarbone and starts to  _shake_ , it makes something deep inside Dick’s chest fracture. "Dick... Dick... you weren't moving, you were so  _pale,_ I-I was so..."

Dick holds him tight, as best he can with the painkillers numbing his system, shushing him, "Hey, hey, I'm just fine Timbers, see? Don't count me out just yet, kid."

But Tim just shakes his head against his shoulder violently, "Sorry, 'm sorry... wasn't there for backup, D, I _knew_ you were alone, that you and Bruce were arguing again. I should've pushed harder to convince you, _I'm sorry..._ "  
  
Dick sucks in a sharp breath--it feels like his throat closes up then and there, " _Not your fault._ " And it wasn't. It was Dick's fault for being too prideful to call for backup, Dick's fault for being icy towards Bruce these past few weeks. " _Never_ your fault, Tim. Occupational hazard, 'member?"

Tim sniffs and just buries his face in Dick's shoulder again, it makes him feel helpless, so he busies himself with carding gently through the kid's silky locks. _(Timmy had such pretty hair, silky, straight and soft, it's a real shame how often he insists on using hair gel to spike it up.)_

Bruce watches these proceedings with a thoughtful hum, but Dick can tell it's just for show, “... Well then? Go on. You were saying about recovering elsewhere?”  
  
Dick's eyes flash and his temper flares, “Oh--you can take that sentiment and _**shove it** right up your self-righteous a--_" Tim lets out a soft distressed sound that has Dick wincing in shame, "... Hell."

"Don't leave, Dick. I just need to know you're  _okay_..." pale hands twist anxiously in his surgery gown, "I'm sorry, just...  _please_.

Dick slowly turns to face B, lip curling in disdain, _"Fuck you."_ He mouths, staying conscious of the ball of distressed little brother he has in his arms.  
  
All Bruce does is quirk his lips in a smug sort of expression, “Language, son.”

 

Tim stumbles into Dick's room on a night to night basis throughout his recovery--either to curl up next to him and work on cases or to just tuck under the covers against his side to nap, usually Damian isn't far behind on those nights. It actually takes Dick an embarrassingly long time for the realization to finally set in and when it does, it's not exactly a happy one to consider, either.

Neither of the boys have  _ever_ seen, him or B downright flatline on the table before.

They’ve been too careful, after everything, after _Jason_ \--keeping them both from the more dangerous cases. The guilt at putting the two of them through this utterly scorches him, so Dick pays extra mind to his Robins as the days stretch on in a slow crawl. He’s been neglecting them out of costume as of late, anyway, they deserve a bit of genuine love and attention that  _isn't_ Bruce's brand of roundabout emotionally constipated nonsense. 

His brain is remains stuck on that damn Red Hood case, causing friction in his sector--Dick thinks something important must have happened when Hood came to his apparent rescue, but he can’t for the life of him remember what was said. Everything that happened immediately after that burst of blinding pain in his abdomen is a blur, the memories are there but fractured and confusing--the closest coherent thing he can remember is  _sensations_. 

~~_(Warm arms, a familiar voice, a crooning in his ear that told him to live.)_ ~~

But the weeks with nothing to do are long, and Bruce is still cagey about Red Hood whenever Dick mentions the man even vaguely. --The memory of that voice was and is unnervingly familiar, it’s driving Dick stir crazy just trying to place it, never mind his additional cabin fever with being stuck in the manor all day every day, barred from doing any sort of work, as a civilian or otherwise. Needless to say, Dick spends most of his recovery time watching Disney with the boys plus occasionally Babs when she visits--with suspiciously less protest than usual on all their ends--and chatting with his worried Titans over Skype.

 _(No_ , he assures Donna,  _you do not have to come to the manor, I am fine. I just need you to take over Leadership until I'm on my feet again. And no Garth healing me magically is not necessary, this is not life-threatening or permanent.)_

Red Hood niggles in the back of Dick’s mind like a persistent parasite, but reluctantly he decides to leave the matter for when his mind is more clear. --Bruce was right, loathe as Dick was to admit it, he _had_ been running himself ragged lately, a lengthy break and a fresh pair of eyes were definitely in order.

Babs even said she’d send Black Canary to patrol the Narrows while he’s in recovery.

(Less than a month in, and Dick has a good seventy percent of his range of motion back, though, to his credit, he makes it look like eighty. In Damian’s terms, it makes him "utterly obnoxious and unbearable", while Tim still sticks to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle. He flips off an increasing number of elevated surfaces to prove a point-- _I'm fine, see? Don't worry about me, still your big brother, still always going to be there to protect you_ \--Alfred disapproves. But judging by the way Tim finally eases off and Damian stops acting so quiet and solemn in his company? Dick calls it a win, even if he pushes back his recovery time a good two extra weeks.) 

***

Unfortunately, things come to a head sooner rather than later.

\--One night, Bruce comes up from the cave with such an utterly exhausted expression it brings Dick up short, and Alfred comes up looking heartbreakingly somber. It’s more than a little alarming, especially when no matter how much Dick needles them, neither of them will so much as _confide_ in him about it.

It makes him uneasy.

The atmosphere gets worse throughout the week, the manor grows darker, more on edge, Tim and Damian are both sent to their respective teams in San Francisco by the time Thursday hits, and a sinking feeling a bit like dread settles in Dick’s gut. B tries to subtly hint that he ought to go to New York. Do the rest of his healing with his team, but, feeling unsettled with Tim and Damian's unceremonious departure, Dick soundly refuses.

~~_(Was something bad going to happen? Why was Bruce isolating himself? What was coming?)_ ~~

Dick hates being out of control. It's one of his worst fears--being out of control is how you lose, being out of control gets people  _killed._ And the situation keeps driving him right up a damn wall throughout the following week, anxiety growing with every flippant brush off of from Bruce's brooding demeanor. The _worst_  doesn't even hit until a nasty Friday night that screams of thunder and Gotham's acid rain--Dick is keeping himself preoccupied with watching the evening news, he's trying not to think about B alone on a night like this without backup, or the fact that he's still laid up on bed rest and he couldn't lend out any meaningful support even if he  _needed_ to ~~( _uselessuselessuseless)_~~. 

All it takes is one glimpse of that familiar face, for a dormant rage to stir to life in Dick’s gut. --It’s the type of rage that would have Bruce gripping his shoulders tight and telling him the mantra he’s been hammering into his head since before Dick even hit double digits: _‘Justice, not vengeance.’_ It’s the type of rage that burns you up inside and leaves you  _boiling._

Dick's nails bite into his palms--he thinks he draws blood, but he's too focused on the screen to care, his teeth make an awful sort of sound as they _grind_. 

 

_\--BREAKING: The Joker has once again escaped Arkham Asylum, citizens advised to avoid going outdoors and stay vigilant--_

 

Dick can’t remember how to breathe.

He doesn’t remember standing abruptly from the love seat and leaving the front room past a concerned Alfred who tries and fails to stop him, he doesn’t remember slapping on a domino and tearing out of the cave on the Nightcycle--it all feeds back into one, wrath-tinted blur. He's working off of a mix of adrenaline and muscle memory, his middle still burns, but the sheer amount of _violence_ inside of him burns hotter. Dick hardly registers the telltale vibrations of his phone in his pocket as he flies through Gotham's narrow streets with little abandon.

Awareness doesn't return to him again, until Dick’s back at his apartment in East End and he pulls out his phone to find twenty-seven missed calls from Barbara, Alfred, _and_ Donna--Dick thinks, maybe, he blames Barbara for that last one. There are only two people in the world who can talk Dick down when he’s this far gone, and one of them is already dead ~~_(gone, died betrayed and unloved, scared, **alone** \--) _ ~~ the other is Donna. So, he makes the conscious decision  _not_ to call Donna or listen to Donna’s messages, he calls Babs instead.

“Oracle,” Dick says in Nightwing’s voice, in Nightwing’s skin, as he tunes into his comm, zipping up his uniform in the back. --He’s bound his middle a little tighter with the gauze from his personal first aid kit, the stitches aren’t quite out yet, Dick hopes they’ll hold. “Where’s B?”  
  
The crackling voice on the other line sings of concern and wariness,“--Dick, you’re not _well_ yet, it’s barely been eight weeks, let alone sixteen--you aren’t thinking straight, head back to the manor, let Bruce handle it.” Dick grits his teeth.

“ _Where. Is. He._ I’ll even take his tracker location, Babs. Give me _something._ ” He draws in a calming breath, then softens his voice, "The less information you give me, the longer Batman is out there without backup and the longer  _I'll_ be out there searching for him in one of Gotham's thunderstorms with a barely healed hole in my abdomen."

Barbara’s silence is deafening and when she finally speaks her voice is hard and detached but in a _wrong way_ that's not her mission voice, it's so not- _Barbara,_ it makes something in Dick want to rage; it makes Nightwing go grim and lethal, makes him wish the Joker _had_ died in Ethiopia.

“... The docks." She says, "He’s in Lower Gotham in one of the empty apartment complexes. Eastside.” And Nightwing is off like a gunshot with his grapple, tearing through the city and the storm, glacial fury filling his gaze.

***

“--dunno what clouds your judgment _worse,_ your guilt or your antiquated sense of ‘morality’.”

Nightwing stills, batons at ready from where he’s preparing to smash through the window of the abandoned building, the words he hears leave him frowning before it finally hits him like a punch to the gut and the pieces he's missing begin to move into place.

_**That**  voice._

He’s still reeling as the conversation drags on, he doesn’t have all the pieces yet still even if they're _moving_ and it’s frustrating as hell, that even now when the answer’s right at the tip of his tongue he still can’t crack the mystery. There’s a need inside of him, a need that’s _screaming_ at Dick to meet this man face to face, but with the angle, he’s at, he can’t see over Batman’s broad shoulders.

_(He needs to help B regardless, he’s being held at gunpoint and--)_

There’s an abrupt sound of a crash that has Nightwing tuning back into what he'd been assuming to be a basic villain monologue abruptly followed by a sickening wheeze, _Joker, definitely the Joker._ He’d know that laugh anywhere. His fingers tighten around his batons enough to _hurt._  It’s the first time he’s heard his voice since before Jason’s death.

It absolutely disgusts him.

“-- _HAH! Gotta give the boy points, he came all the way back from the dead to make this shindig happen!”_ Something in Dick’s gut freezes as those words twist his stomach and something _uncomfortable_ slots into place. **_No._** He thinks. _Anything but that. Not this._

“So, who’s got a camera?”

_(Nonono--)_

“Get one of me and the _kid_ first,”

_(Breathe. Nightwing’s voice orders in back of Dick’s mind. You need to **breathe.** ) _

“Then you and me. Then the _three_ of us, and then one with the _crowbar--_ ”

_(Liar. The Joker is a liar. He always lies, he's always--)_

The grating voice of the Joker cuts out abruptly with the resounding sound of a violent thud, and Dick feels his heart rate slow and calm. _Think rationally._ Bruce’s grief was _real_ Jason was wholly and utterly dead. Joker had sent the video as proof, he'd gloated and raved about it for  _months, years even_. About grounding one of the Bat's  _'precious birdies',_ so goddamn proud of himself for killing some seventeen-year-old kid--it was a cruel blessing in disguise he didn't know who Batgirl was.

But Jason Todd was dead. No ifs and's or buts about it--Dick had seen the coroner's report, he’d forced himself to look at the autopsy photos--yet something inside of him continues to _ache_ he wants to see his face, he just… wants to put a face to that voice he can't help but feel he _knows,_  the one that’s deeper now and doesn’t crack. The one that demanded brokenly for him to 'fight'. 

 _(It’s not him, not him, not him, Bruce would’ve **told** him--they were past this. They trust each other, dammit. Bruce wouldn’t keep something like this from him. Not _ **_this_ ** _\--not Jason.)_

“-- _why?_ I ain’t talkin’ about killing the Penguin, or Scarecrow, or fucking _Dent,_  even if he’d deserve every last second of it… I mean _him_ dammit. Just _him._ After what he did to _Babs_?”

Dick’s shaking now, his internal arguments are getting slimmer and slimmer by the moment. _Can’t be..._  
  
“Decide. If you won’t kill this _psychotic piece of filth_ , I will. You wanna stop me you’re gonna have’ta kill me.” And then there’s another thud--no, more like a clatter, an object, maybe? There's a long silence after that, Dick counts to ten several times in his head as he tries and fails to swallow against the dryness in his throat. Then--

“ _Decide, dammit!_ ”

Nightwing takes over after that.

The tremors leave Dick’s fingertips like he’s been dosed in a calming shower. And he gets a grip on the upper window ledge, winds up his lower muscles and core, fighting through the twisting burn in his gut, and slams his armored heels down _hard_ into the decrypt window. The fragile, cloudy glass didn’t even stand a chance, even if he's slightly out of shape--it shatters inward in a truly dramatic fashion. Several eyes snap towards Nightwing as he lands heavy on the grimy floorboards of the abandoned apartment building.

Dick finally gets a look at the voice’s face as he raises his head, and the final pieces of his mystery click neatly into place. But the parts were always there weren’t they? Dick just wasn’t good enough to put them all together.

_Jason._

And hell. _Hell,_ he’s grown so much, they _both_ have, it makes Dick want to cry.

“Dick--” Bruce starts stiffly.

Jason’s face twists into something pained from behind the red domino mask, Dick can see his eyes, and fuck they're greener than he remembers but still so beautiful. “... You’re not supposed to be here.”  
  
“ _Red,_ ” Dick breathes, and lets the momentum of his steps carry him forward, his eyes are stinging, he raises up a shaky hand to let down his eye whites, “Fuck, _Jay--_ ”

“--Would you look at that, two birds of a feather,” the Joker’s voice cuts in shrilly, it's enough to cause Dick to stiffen and stall, halfway between B and Jason. “--Together again, It's a family reunion! I’d be happy for you if it didn’t just _turn my stomach_ to see all my work undone. I meant to get both birdies at once you know? But _yeesh_ , the blue one was always outta town--was a real shame too,” the color drains from Dick’s face at that as he wavers, those grating cackles just seem to seep into his skull, it makes him dizzy, “-- _get it_ ? Two birds, one stone! Oh! Oh, or maybe I should say _crowbar_...”

Jason’s gaze snaps down to regard the man with a mix of disdain and disgust as he snarls, “‘Nother word outta you and I’ll put a bullet in your lap ‘fore your head.”

“-- _Wow,_ same reaction as when you were a kiddo. You were always such a _tough_ crowd, like Batsy over here, real grim and stubborn, ‘till I mention the smiley one, that is! Makes me wish I’d have played that card more often...” The Joker’s eyes light up in a way that makes Dick’s stomach roll, “Wait! You’re back, that means I still _can_ \--”  The safety is clicked off as Jason digs the muzzles into the Joker’s temple, eyes flashing in a barely restrained rage, Dick tries to calm his breathing.

“One way or another you’re not touching anyone in this city _ever again,_  whatever the hell the Big Bad _Bat_ chooses.”

Dick looks back at Bruce, the man’s expression is grim and almost unnervingly resolute. It worries him. “ _No one_ is dying tonight.”

“Oh fuck off, Old Man, who the hell’s gonna mourn this miserable sack of shit--? Wouldn't be surprised if Gotham threw me a damn _parade_.”

Dick closes the rest of the distance between them, that dazed feeling hitting him all over again that Jason Todd is _alive._  The Joker doesn’t matter, Bruce doesn’t matter, nothing short of an apocalypse could tear his eyes from Jay, not now. A shaky hand raises to cup one of Jason’s cheek and turn his face down to meet his gaze, Dick’s kind of _beyond_ emotionally compromised right about now, no wonder Bruce tried to keep him away from this case. _Should’ve looked into Hood harder, he might have known sooner, might’ve stopped this sooner--_

Jason stiffens and turns world-weary eyes down to stare at Dick, but he doesn’t jerk away from the touch--perhaps it's out of habit, or maybe that's just Dick's wishful thinking. His voice goes soft enough to break Dick’s heart a bit. “... Dickiebird, this doesn’t concern you any at all. _Go home._ ”

“Nightwing, this is our unfinished business. _My_ responsibility. Leave. That’s an order.” Batman cuts in as though that’s going to make him _leave_ , as though that’s going to get him to trust that this isn’t all going to go horribly, horribly wrong and he won’t end up losing Jay at the end of it all. He’d trusted the both of them once to always stay safe, to always come back, and last time around, Jason had _died._ All because Dick had trusted them, had trusted that they didn't need him anymore.

_Why is everyone involved in his life like this?_

Dick grits his teeth, temper raising, he’s tired of being lied to, of not being able to protect what's his, and the Joker--this _man, this monster_ \--is the cause of all of it, right this very moment, it feels like he’s the cause of everything. The Joker inclines his head toward Nightwing’s domino, Dick belatedly realizes his eye whites are still down when their eyes meet, whatever the clown sees there makes that sickening grin widen.

“Aaah. I see--there _is_ something interesting inside of you after all, Blue. _Knew_ I always liked you for a reason junior, always made for the _best_ punchlines--”

And without another thought, as if he’s moving on autopilot Dick rams an escrima stick into a cackling Joker’s chin, driving his second into Jason’s stomach to leave the former Robin stumbling backward, more from shock than pain. He doesn’t have time to register the wild-eyed, confused look Jason gives him, nor let the guilt set in, Dick just _moves_ lets the swirling rage in his gut propel his actions.

Joker is still conscious and standing, wavering with his wicked smile and stumbling in that infuriatingly off-kilter way of his, so Dick drives his knee into his stomach hard enough to fracture ribs and bruise internal organs. He hears a voice that might be familiar, telling him to stop--Dick doesn’t even give it a pause. Instead, he takes the Joker’s head and slams it right through the rotting drywall with brutal efficiency, dust rises in the air as Dick heaves him _up_ out of the hole and roughly tosses him to the floor like a rag doll. For a moment he stands over him, panting and trembling down to his fingertips, then he sweeps a leg over the wheezing bastard’s stomach, and goes in with his fists. Deep down, Dick knows, logically, he can stop at this point, knows that the Joker couldn’t fight back or spout poison anymore even if the clown _wanted to_. But Dick can’t let himself stop, he exhales unsteady, swallowing breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists as adrenaline pumps his veins.

He _wants_ to keep going, he wants to keep going until the Joker’s _gone._  Gone for good. For Jason. For Babs. For everyone that’s _his_ he’s ever hurt--

“--twing…! _Nightwing!_ **_Stand down._** ”

Batman’s voice cuts through the hazy cloud of blood and anger like a knife. Nightwing shoves ‘Dick’ on the back-burner and bodily jerks backward, spine going ramrod straight. When he glances down, there’s blood on his gauntlets and he’s taken out most of the Joker’s perfect-fucking teeth; Dick realizes this numbly, in a detached sort of way--he distantly hopes no one fixes them.

“I-..I...” Dick exhales, pressing bloodstained fingers up through his own wild hair, gripping and tugging with a shaky inhale. He still can’t _breathe._

Jason hovers in the corner, tense and off balance in demeanor, wavering in posture like he’s grappling with several different instincts at once. His fingers twitch on his gun for a long time, before slowly, carefully, he re-holsters it with a clunking sound loud enough to make Dick flinch hard _(there’s so much blood on his hands, fuck, there’s so much blood)_ _._ After that, Jason unhooks his holsters outright, letting it all drop to the floor with a dull sounding thud, shoulders carefully unwinding as he strides forward towards Dick, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. Dick pays it no mind as his gaze fixes itself on the Joker and just... _he wants to keep going_. The Joker’s under him, _having the nerve to still stay breathing, tormenting him, mocking him,_ and god he just wants to keep going until he _stops;_  maybe once he finally does _Dick_ will be able to breathe again--

“... Dickie, you gotta exhale for me, get it? In and out. Come on, sugar. _In and out._ ” Jay’s voice is rougher than when he was a teen, all low and deep--not as deep and rumbling as Bruce’s but deep enough that Dick can feel it resonate in Jay’s chest when he’s pulled back against it. Like he’s trying to keep Dick from trembling apart, unraveling at his very seams. “Can feel me pressed up against you, yeah? Good. _Follow me,_  focus on _my_ breathing--and you’ll be right as rain, promise. Always safe with me, Prettybird.”

It takes a long while, there’s a lot of that deep familiar-unfamiliar voice murmuring into his hair, of strong arms squeezing him flush against a broad, warm, chest before shakily, Dick exhales. He fumbles uselessly for words that won’t come. At some point, Jason had bodily pulled him off of the Joker’s stomach and into his lap. It makes Dick wants to laugh, it makes Dick want to burst into tears. He ends up falling into both.

 _(He wonders how long it's been since he’s been this compromised. Since Babs--? No, he was functional with Babs. Since_ Jason _. Things always came down to Jason, didn’t they?)_

“...Alive, y-you. You’re.” He tries to straighten up in Jay’s arms, but pain shoots through his midsection as the adrenaline driving him fades again, Dick groans out a pained gasp, curling in on himself as Batman takes a half-step forward and Jason’s gloved hands move to swiftly cup his cheeks.

“The 'how’s not important, what’s important is why you’re even _here_ \--I mean hell, you even got your stitches out yet Goldie…? Reckless, always so reckless...” He presses his lips against Dick’s forehead again and again, just like he used to when they were plucky sidekicks in capes during the hard nights when the demons got too _real._  It makes Dick melt into him a little bit. “Fuck,” Jason just says. " _Fuck._ "

“Course s’important, what are you saying, Jay? I saw it, he sent us the _tape_ \--I-I wasn’t supposed look to but I did,  _I saw you die_ \--”

Jason’s body winds up like a bowstring, his black gaze reeling back in direction of the Joker’s prone form splayed across the ground a few feet away, his hand twitches towards a gun holster he belatedly realizes isn't there. Batman stiffens but says nothing more, though he notably looks away in regret. 

“Jason.” Bruce finally says, “Listen--we can get you _help_. I’ll check you into Arkham, they can give you what you need.”  
  
Before Jason can so much as react to _that,_ Dick’s head shoots up, all but bristling, white-knuckled grip twisting in the kevlar fabric of the other's body armor.

“ _No._ ” He snarls outright. Because Jason would never get 'help' at Arkham, Jason would never _leave_ Arkham. They’d drug him up to the gills and leave him to rot, and that wasn’t happening, not on Dick's watch, no matter how broken and bitter he came back to them, this man was still _Jason_ ,  _his Jason_. No asylum dirty as Arkham was allowed to break him, not as long as Dick was still living.

But Bruce just scowls, crossing his arms tightly. “He’s _pit mad_ , Dick, it’s not safe.” That hardly gives Dick a pause, but it certainly gives Jason one--he can hear a growl building in the former Robin’s chest.

"Listen you bullheaded son of a--"

“... Doesn’t matter.” Dick finally says smoothly cutting Jay off while the other man freezes abruptly, expression going a little dumbfounded as Dick just tightens his grip around an armored waist.

Bruce has similarly frozen aside from his deepening scowl, “...He’s killed people in cold-blood, he _can’t_ be the exception, Nightwing. I won’t let him be. Even criminals deserve justice.”  
  
“And _you_ think sticking him in the most corrupt Asylum in the country, in the same place as the man who _killed him,_ is gonna do wonders for his mental health.” Dick scoffs in disbelief--he hasn’t taken this tone with B since their last falling out. “He’s not just some _mistake_ you can shove to the back of the closet to lament and brood over forever, B. He's a person. He's _family. Our family._ Come _on._ You’re _better_ than this.” He half pleads.

“I _know_ you are, I’ve seen it.”

There's another silence, Bruce sounds so tired, “... I can’t Dick, he’s _dangerous._  I keep telling you--that Jason we knew? He's gone, Dick, dead."

Dick feels his hackles rise again, eyes growing wide behind his mask, before he rips off the domino, ignoring the phantom sting of the adhesive and the stinging in his eyes. “How  _dare you?_  Get your head out of your ass, B--out of Gotham, hell, go off-world, maybe Clark and Diana can make you see sense,” Dick snarls, spitting enough vitriol to burn and scar, “I don’t _care_ about your guilt complex, Bruce. Leave me out of it, _leave Jason out of it._ You don't get to treat him like he's _dead_ just because you think he's _your_  'failure'."

Bruce stares Dick down for a long time.  
  
“You’re going to get hurt.” he says, quietly, “He’s not our Jason anymore.”  
  
“Jason wouldn’t hurt me,” Dick says with absolute certainty as Jason’s eyes widen a fraction like he wasn’t expecting Dick to flip this easily. It almost makes Dick want to laugh because even now after almost five years without him, he still can't imagine doing anything else.

For a while, there’s an even tenser silence, as Dick Grayson glowers the Batman himself into submission and Batman attempts to do the same, for a while it seems like neither of them will yield--until suddenly, slowly, gradually, Dick's eyes soften up, and he lets out a deep, tired breath. He takes a gamble:

“... Dad.”

Batman goes stiff as a board, and Dick knows exactly why--he hasn’t called him that since they first started talking again, not since Timmy first came along. It’s been even longer since he’s called him that in a casual setting.

  
_“Please.”_

.

  
.

  
.

 

Dick walks out of the freshly de-bombed abandoned apartment complex with a skip in his step, Jason is following behind him with a tense frown. Adrenalin wholly gone, Dick can most certainly feel the pain in his abdomen setting in again when he takes to the rooftops. His leaps get increasingly shorter and his flourishes get sloppy, it’s not until he almost misses a ledge that Jason catches him around the waist, still looking at him like he’s a new and confounding puzzle he can’t quite figure out. It’s just how Jason used to look at Dick when he first came to the manor and didn't know what to do with the plucky cheerful kid who liked doing flips and cartwheels and bothering him in the library.

“Why’d you do it.” Says Jason, in a subdued sort of voice as he pulls Dick to his side in something like an old forgotten reflex, grappling up high as Dick clings to his neck. It’s not a question, not really, Dick still decides to treat it like one.

Dick shrugs, “B would have made the wrong choice. He’s emotionally compromised right now--sending you to Arkham wouldn’t help anyone.”  
  
Jason works his jaw for a moment as he lands heavy on a fire escape, supporting most of Dick’s weight at this point. “But... he's right, you know...? I’m not the same kid anymore. The one who died in that warehouse.” He says voice strained and clipped.

Really this whole conversation feels like the ones they used to half when they were two dumb kids latching onto each other, desperate to never let go, watching True Crime TV shows after a hard patrol. It makes Dick nostalgic _~~(it makes him want to weep).~~_

“Course you aren’t,” Dick just says voice going soft, “Just like I’m not that same teeny selfish brat who dragged you along like a pup on a lease.”

That gets a disbelieving scoff out of Jay, Dick grins, “Oh no, you are _definitely_ still that kid, Sugar. What do you call what happened in that apartment block?”  
  
“Improvising,” Dick replies primly. 

“You looked ready to bite B’s hand off if he so much as reached for me.”

“Maybe amputation would teach him a hard lesson about making poorly thought out choices based around his guilt complex.”

Jason frowns at him, his eyes are greener now--Dick wonders if it has anything to do with the pit. “... He wasn’t lying. I’ve _killed_ people, D. Most of them I don’t regret. Just ‘cause you getting all worked up back there triggered my weird, forgotten ‘Dick Grayson is a self-sacrificial idiot who’ll die without me’ knee jerk reaction doesn’t change _shit_ , Golden Boy.” His arm squeezes Dick’s lower back, thumb rubbing his waist in careful, easy circles. "I'm not 'yours', I haven't been for a long time."

The mindless show of intimacy is precisely why Dick doesn’t believe a single word leaving his mouth.

“I _did_ die without you.” Dick says, seriously, voice going cold and hard in a way that leaves Jason recoiling, “I missed you like crazy, Jay. For--for a while, B didn’t even tell me you were _dead_ \--” his breath hitches and shudders, “I missed your damn funeral. We got into a shouting match over it, when I came back. He--It was.” Dick stops, shaking his head, _Jason always did best with honesty._  “... I didn’t speak a word to him for years, Jase. Things were _that_ bad. I... left by the time the dust settled.” He lets out a soft laugh, "Just like you used to tell me to do, 'I don't need to protect him', right? So after... _that_ I left." And Jason's face twists in something that's a mix between realization, anger, and something _pained_. It's similar to guilt, but not quite. "Wouldn't you believe it? Took him at least several years to apologize."

“ _Dick--_ ”  
  
But Dick rolls right over him, voice frantic and shallow, “... I didn’t leave your room for days, I slept in your bed for months until your scent faded _._ I wouldn’t even walk at graduation because we promised we’d walk together _._ And I just...” Jason tries to pull away, Dick doesn’t let him, arms looping up to wind around his shoulders properly, pulling them up chest to chest. “I’m _still_ not myself, Jay, not really, not without _you_.”  
  
The other man is taller and broader now, jawline more refined, brows perpetually furrowed--Jason’s grown _handsome,_ in a roguish sort of way, built like a bruiser, just like Dick had guessed. Dick notes all of this distantly with their bodies pressed flush. The one unchanging thing about Jay, in fact, is his gaze. It’s still intense, fiercely guarded, fiercely protective; it about steals Dick’s breath away same as it used to when he was a stupid, careless teen, stupidly in love with his partner, stupid enough to leave him alone and _falling._

“... Dickie that doesn’t change…” He tries to pull away again, but Dick only presses closer, exhaling against Jason’s neckline, feeling the bigger man shudder--hell, he’s ready to pull out every last underhanded trick in the book if only to convince Jason to _stay._ His fingers press upwards through Jason’s hair, as he draws in a shaky breath and tries to dredge up that place he goes that makes his eyes sting and fill--Jason’s weak to Dick’s tears, always has been.

“... I wasn’t even on planet,” Dick mutters despondently against the bare skin he can reach as if Jay hadn’t spoken at all, insistently pressing their foreheads together, another familiar gesture that makes Jason’s expression _crumple_. “I wasn’t even on _fucking_ _planet, Jay_ _\--_ ”

Arms quickly wind around his waist, squeezing him tight, it hurts with his middle still healing but Dick feels relieved. It’s not terribly hard to cry when he thinks back on _those_ days. But it’s making Jason stay, Jason’s still here, hasn't run away from him yet, and that’s all that matters.   
  
_~~(That's **all** that matters.)~~ _

“Hey,  _hey,_ nona'that,” the voice muffled against his curls soothes, one warm hand sliding from around his middle to cup the back of Dick’s neck in a grounding hold, “Hate it when you cry, Dickie, c’mon. Don’t do this to me,” Jason lets out a shaky, helpless sort of laugh as if he can’t believe what’s happening. And that’s okay, Dick can bounce off of that, he can _use_ that. Best performances happen when they hit closest to home, after all. And hell, nothing about this ugliness is an act, the pain is real, everything he's felt for these past five years is  _real_ it's just a matter of remembering every day he spent grieving.

Dick’s breath hitches and he tries to shake his head against Jason’s shoulder, he tightens his grip, “Jay, no, you don’t understand--I didn’t _catch_ you. I promised I would and then I didn’t _catch you--_ ”  
  
Jason holds him tighter, Dick's middle is burning now, but he can't bring himself to pull away from the contact. “I was a stupid kid and I _paid_ for it. Cared too much, trusted too easy.” Dick lets out a broken protesting sound, shaking his head into the crook of Jason’s neck. _Perfect, you were perfect._

They lock eyes again and Jason swallows thickly, “... Shit… guess I’m _still_ a stupid kid who cares too much and trusts too easy.” His words are sure and steady, but there’s something a little unhinged and hysterical in his voice that makes Dick just want to pull him into his bed and murmur nothings and promises into his ears forever.

“You were perfect to _me,_  Jay,” Dick says, pushing as much steel as he can muster into his wavering voice, “still are.”

Jason lets out a strangled sort of sound, “...B wasn’t lying about the Pit either, you know--? I could hurt ya’ bad. _Real_ bad, Prettybird.” He swallows and using a fidgety hand to wipe the wetness from Dick's raw cheeks before he continues.

“It’s… _the Pit_ \--s’burrowed deep under my skin down to the damned marrow, you don’t get rid of something that nasty, it’s,” Jason’s jaw tightens as he forces himself to shoulder on, “the _violence_. Can’t restrain it any--you’ll get what I mean if you stick around too long, Birdie. Hell, my plans are shot to hell, I don't even know where to _go_ from here. No reason to drag you down with me.” Dick lifts his head fully this time, Jason's eyes are hard and determined. Determined to send him running for the hills, determined to go through this _alone._ Before he can stop himself, Dick leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Jason’s lips, making the infamous crime lord freeze solid.

“We’ll figure it out. Together.” Dick whispers lips moving against warm skin, it’s not a ‘real’ kiss, or at least that’s what he tells himself. ~~Dick’s not brave enough for a real kiss.~~  Then, slowly surely, in the silence of Gotham’s night, between the screaming sirens from a distance and the whistling of the city's windy wails. Jason’s shoulders carefully hitch and unwind.

“... You’re going to regret this.”

“Besides anything short of you, say, secretly being Clayface in disguise, I’m moderately sure I won’t regret _you_ , Jaybird. Never you.”

Jason clicks his tongue and sways with Dick in his arms, he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, Dick doesn’t mention it, rocks with him. “What about B.”  
  
“B can come _groveling,_ ” Dick says with a bitter snort, “see how he handles those twin hellions without me around to smooth things over.”

Jason presses their foreheads together, this time of his own will. “... Talia mentioned them,” Dick sucks in a sharp breath, he almost gets angry again because _of course, it was her, it always starts and stops with that damn family, doesn’t it?_

“Jase--”

“The Drake kid and the Demonhead’s grandson, huh? She showed me pictures... Dunno what she wanted me to take from that,” Jason frowns, “she seemed disappointed. Like she was expecting me to be _angry._  Ya’know? But. They’re just so... teeny.”

Jason blinks hard, glancing down at Dick again, “ _Teeny-tiny,_  Dick, like we used to be. Who the hell gave them to _B_?”

Dick quirks a small smile, “... They’re actually both shrimps. Damian’s even shorter than _I_ was.”

Jason offers a slight upturn of the lips, “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a brat through and through--but Tim’s got him all figured out. Pulls him around on an invisible leash just like his superboy. I’m telling you, seeing the four of them together in the same room is like the world’s most awkward sitcom.”  
  
“Four?”  
  
“--Superboy’s got a brother. Sorta. It’s complicated.”

“ _We_ didn’t get our own superboys,” Jason says quirking up an eyebrow, but his eyes are dancing, Dick’s finally got him laughing it feels like a victory.

“No, we got an overprotective Wonder girl and a firecracker attached to a bow and arrow.”

Jason falls quiet at that, “... How… How _are_ they by the way? Everyone else, I mean. I only kept up with Gotham while I was... away.” Dick cups Jason’s cheeks as hope begins to unfurl in his chest.

“Come home with me and find out--for starters, did you know Roy has a kid now?”

Jason leans onto his hands, as he snorts in bemusement, “ _Hah!_ No fuckin’ way.”

They'd tackle everything else later, Dick decides then and there, because Jason Todd is _alive_ and he still deems Dick Grayson worthy enough to smile for him--and that means a hell of a lot more to Dick than _anything_ that's happen these past several months. 

 

***

“I started that Private Eye Business we talked about back in high school.”

“Mmhm. I know, I’ve staked it out for at least an hour every day since I got in town an’ got the ball rolling. --You should really work on your spacial awareness, by the way, I've been there in the same homeless disguise at least nine different times. Even broken into your office a few times to check the deets."  
  
“Wait... you’ve _what--_ ”  
  
“Saints alive, don’t be so dramatic. Couldn’t find anything useful for what I was working on at the time anyway. Your filing system ’s _shit_ , Goldie, first chance I get I’m reworking it from the ground up.”  
  
“My filing system is _fine!_ "

"Just keep telling yourself that."

***

 

“That sounds like stalking,” says Wally over drinks and bar food one night.

Dick shrugs, pausing in the middle of sipping at his beer, “Not really--we’re Bats.”

Wally makes a face around the fry he’s munching on. “You Bats always do shit so sideways _._  I swear most of your issues would be solved if you just talked and showed affection like _normal_ , people.”

“I’m the most openly affectionate member of my family, Walls. It's the others that are like... that.”

“You’re possessive, paranoid, overprotective, and touch-starved to boot--there’s a difference,” Wally says counting the descriptors off on his non-dominant hand, before popping another fry into his mouth.

Dick just grins, it’s a Nightwing smile that’s all teeth, “Come on now, Wally. You’ve known me since I was in scaley panties, a Bat is still a Bat. Even if I _am_ better at pretending to be more well-adjusted.”

And with that, he goes back to his drink and Wally grimaces, but still leans forward, curious. Always curious, it’s what drew Dick to him in the first place, really. “... You know. You kind of scare me sometimes, dude. How much _are_ you ‘pretending’ on the reg, anyways? Give or take, I mean?”

At that, Dick inclines his head, thinking hard, the longer the silence stretches on between them, the deeper Wally’s frown grows, “... Dunno. You probably don't _want_ to know, to be honest here, man. There’s a different ‘me’ for, uh, everyone, I think?" Is that normal? Probably not. "Though, I guess Donna and Jay probably have the closest picture of the ‘real me’. But Roy, you, and Garth are a pretty close second, I wouldn’t be telling you this otherwise. So don't feel _too_ bad about it.” He finishes in a flippant tone, Wally makes another face at that.

“That’s... reassuring?” And Dick grins that lazy, resting tiger-like grin at him again.

“I’m not as good at compartmentalizing as Bruce, though, Bruce can be several people at once if he wants to be. It’s why he’s so good at undercover co-ops.” Dick hums, frowning down at his empty glass, no wonder he was feeling so open tonight. Dick's always been a bit of a lightweight. “I can do that too, I’m _really_ good at it, in fact! Thing is... I never really… turn it off? Bad habits instilled on me at an early age.” It figures that he’d be talking about this over four am beers and french fries at a NY bar with Wally West. Wally's a good listener, Dick values that in a best friend, he’s always been good at keeping Dick’s secrets. 

“... I don’t actually think I’ve been ‘me’ for a long time. No one would like the real me, at least not _really_ , I think.”

Wally gives him a look he can't quite decipher, “... I don't think that's healthy."

"Oh, it's _definitely_ not." Dick barks out an amused laugh, laying his face on his arm as he watches Wally with shining eyes and alcohol-flushed cheeks, "But again, what can I say, Wally? I'm a _Bat_."

Wally finally seems to decide to let _that_ baggage lie, at least for now. Dick watches him school his expression into something less concerned, it doesn't worry him, because, again, his speedster is a wonderful secret keeper. Donna would talk him down, tell him all the ways to fix himself--Wally just _listened_. "... So, what are you going to do next," he asks.  
  
"About?"  
  
"About the _Jason-Todd-shaped elephant in your apartment, Dick,_ what do you think?" And Dick, pauses, looking thoughtful.  
  
"... Dunno. I guess we're just gonna have to play it by ear and see how it works out."  
  
And that startles a laugh out of Wally, who arches up an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like you _at all_ , Robbie, but for what it's worth? I'm glad you've got your boy back."  
  
Dick shoots him the realest smile he's given all night. "Thanks, Walls, it means the world." 

*** 

As Wally carries him home, and Dick clings to his back. It reminds him of when they were kids--the familiar rush of the wind on his cheeks is soothing, it feels a lot like flying.  
  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Jason: Okay one plan, get in, fuck with Bruce and kill the Joker at all costs, Do Not Get Compromised By Nightwing.  
> Dick: -exists-  
> Jason:  
> Jason:  
> Jason: -somehow ends up crashing at Dick's apartment- ... Well, fuck.)
> 
>  
> 
> God that was a long chapter to edit :TTT  
> I read everyone's comments and I keep them all close to my heart, I'm glad so many people like this weird idea ❤️! (I'm bad at replying because I'm super shy but please know that I love and appreciate everyone who's left kudos, bookmarked and commented👌)


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two very broken boys work out the intricacies of being broken together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which the author finally resolves the sexual tension in the room)

♬♪

 

There’s a tension in the air as Dick struggles to find his balance with Jason all over again.

 

It’s not starting over from scratch, not exactly, because all the moving parts of their relationship are still there and functional. The cogs are just a little rusted—they just haven’t had to move together in tandem in a while, that's all.

But, well. That doesn’t stop Dick from giving into the burning urge to touch _, always, constantly._  His hand is either on the nape of Jay's neck or pressed up against his chest, counting his heartbeats. --He _needs_ to make sure; make sure that all of this isn't just some long elaborate dream or some cruel-hearted illusion.

_(Jason going back with him to his apartment that first night is a trap, Dick won’t let him leave.)_

“Dick, let go of me, I’ve got things to take care of.”

“Are they illegal things?”

“Everything you _do_ is illegal.”

The two of them are sprawled out on Dick’s couch, the remains of a Thai dinner on the coffee table--Dick had been nodding off before Jason had tried to move him without waking him. Said acrobat rolls his eyes, “You _know_ what I mean, Jason.” And Jason falls into an incriminating silence, then, goes back to trying to shift out of his grip.

Tiring of the other’s antics, Dick exhales innocently against Jay’s collarbone, half grinning as he feels the other man shudder and go slack underneath him, Jason's always been a contradiction. Erratic yes, but always predictable, at least to Dick. “ _Stay._ ” He tests in a tone that he remembers makes the other man fold.

And  _fold_ Jason does, like a scruffed puppy, groaning as he falls right back onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling for a moment. --His brows are furrowed, like he can't remember how or why he got here in the first place, so, Dick makes a point of smoothing out the wrinkles with his index finger. Once Jason's face appropriately softens up, and he's looking at Dick with those, deep, deep feeling eyes, he tucks his face contently into the crook of Jason’s neck, humming content as a cat.

“You’re a menace.” He says.

“ _Not_ a menace.” Dick lifts his head and smoothly moves into Jay’s line of sight, sticking out his tongue teasingly. He notices Jason’s eyes drawn to the motion, lingering, and a smug smile pulls at Dick's lips. “I’m just resourceful.”

***

It's been exactly one month. A month of figuring out each other's tells again, of relearning new ones, of quiet conversations about Bruce and Jason scrutinizing Dick's workspace. It's messy, they still _fit_ together, they learn a brand new dance.

 

The age-old argument about ‘who gets the bed and who gets the couch’ hadn't even been a starter. Dick had simply pulled Jay into bed next to him that very first night and hadn't let him go since. So, the first time Jason wakes up screaming and clawing at nothing, Dick is, unfortunately, tucked against him, it's a bad somewhat disorienting experience overall.

Jason gets him in a bad way in the solar plexus with his knee, it’s enough to punch Dick's breath away for a few precious seconds before he _reacts,_  blood already pumping with the rude and abrupt wake-up call. 

When he catches a look at the former robin's eyes, his heart _sinks_. Jason’s eyes are wild and unseeing, like a terrified animal's, glimmering a sickening fluorescent green that reminds him of Ra's; it’s enough to leave Dick aching, down to his very core. Because fuck he's not even conscious right now, and _hell,_ he's fighting like he's going to die if he stops for even a second. 

_Oh, Jason._

They grapple in the bed as Dick tries and fails to get his momentum back, fighting against the stinging pain from that hard blow he’d taken to the chest and the haze still lingering in his brain. --It’ll bruise like a bitch, he knows this already, the realization makes Dick wince for an entirely different reason. (Jason’s going to feel like _shit_ when he finally comes to and snaps out of it.)

Dick tumbles out of the bed with a thud that forces the air what little air he'd regained right out of his lungs, eyes going wide as he blocks Jason’s blows- _-snap him out of it, remind him where he is, let him know he’s safe--_ a fist catches Dick’s guard and yanks sharply left, Dick tries to roll with it to avoid being pinned. But Jason is faster than him, working on pure instinct while Dick’s still working up to _adrenaline_.

His head is slammed into the floor as a rough, calloused hand pins him down by the neck and with a start, Dick finds he suddenly can’t draw in a single breath.

The seconds tick by in what feels like too-slow a crawl as Dick squirms and arches against the hold, mouth gaping opening wordlessly. He raises a trembling hand to feel out the features of a defined face until he cups one of Jason’s cheeks swiping a thumb over those wide, vacant eyes. He moves them up further, tangling them in those messy dark curls.

 _“Jase…”_  He breathes as the rest of his air leaves him, and just as the black spots in his vision become unbearable, and his limbs weaken. He can't keep his hands up anymore, so he lets them both fall, resting gently over Jason's hands still gripping his throat. "P...pleas--" And just like that, those eyes are suddenly  _clear_ , clear back to that familiar sea foam, and Jay's grip slackens.

“No…” Fingers tremble against his throat for a moment, before snatching back as though scorched against a stovetop, _“No… no, no, no…_ Dick--fuck, _Dickie_ \--” There’s a little shake to his shoulders as his head lolls, Jason sounds panicked, fingertips frantically press against his pulse.

Dick needs to reassure him otherwise he’ll work himself up…he needs to tell him it's not his fault, but Dick's limbs don't seem to want to  _listen_ \--maybe they would after a nap? A few moments of resting his eyes, then he’d pull him in close, make him feel better, tell him how everything’s going to be _okay... They're together there's nothing they can't figure out when they're together._

\--Dick allows himself a slow blink and the world falls away for a bit.

  
  
When he opens his eyes again, it’s dawn, he’s back in bed and Jason isn’t anywhere in sight; if not for the warm reminder of the sunrise, it would feel like no time had passed at all. Tenderly, he reaches up a hand to rub over his bruised neck, he only frowns upon sitting up fully. He spies that the closet doors are wide open and Jason’s duffle is gone.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, a sense of alarm thrumming in his chest, Dick gets to his feet and pads out of his bedroom, one hand massaging against the aching bruise on his throat, “Ja--” He frowns, he’s having trouble projecting--it hurts his chest. No worse than getting shot in body armor, Dick can push through.

He peeks out into the hallway and chews his lip when he still doesn’t see Jason, fighting down the panic in his chest, Dick forces his legs to keep moving. _Please_ , he thinks rampantly, _God,_ **_please_ ** _..._

And finally, _finally,_ some of his desperation eases when he spot's Jason’s broad back juxtaposed against the morning sun, leaning against the fire escape, smoking a cigarette, he hasn’t noticed Dick yet. Dick’s also relieved to locate Jay’s duffle too--incriminatingly set right by the front door, granted, but _there_.

Drawing in a few deep, calming breaths, Dick allows his nerve to carry his legs forward again, he doesn’t stop until he reaches the raised window and shimmies his way through. He fits himself against the curve of Jason’s spine and to his credit, Jay only stiffens a little bit, mid-inhale. (Dick notes that his hands are shaking.) Gently, he exhales against his former partner’s nape, he feels Jason shudder under his lips, all it does is encourage Dick to curl his arms around Jay’s middle tighter.

 _“Don’t go.”_ He just mumbles, and it’s all he can think to say, _“Stay.”_ And Jason’s shoulders tighten as he looks skyward with a hapless laugh. Dick only clutches onto him with an iron grip, a part of him is petrified that he'll disappear, for good this time around.

“I already told you--this ain’t gonna work. I’ve spent _years_ learning from assassin's, D. Anything and everything Bruce never taught us, I’m lethal because that’s all I wanted to be back with Talia and the Leauge, hell. That urge still isn’t out of my system, I’m _dangerous._

And that’s doubly true when I’m not in my right of mind, actin' on instinct like I was earlier,” Jason swallows and takes a long drag of his cigarette. “This isn’t… this isn’t something that’s gonna get fixed with forgiveness or whatever it is we're doing. Coulda’ killed you Dickie--lucky I didn’t snap your neck… hell. I coulda’ _snapped your damn neck_ …” Jason’s shoulders hunch inward as he bears his weight down heavily on the railing, leaning it all on a single white-knuckled hand. Dick frowns as Jay promptly crushes the still-burning cigarette in his bare fist--quietly, he shifts around him, until he’s right beside him instead of in back of him.

“Jason…”

“ _You don't listen, you never fucking listen._ I keep tellin' you--could hurt you  _real bad_  .” And Jason tugs at his hair, the fist clutching the cigarette still trembling. "But you're so damned  _stubborn..."_

Dick takes the quaking fist gently in his hands, and coaxes it open with a deepening frown, wincing at the reddened skin and the ash--he tosses the smothered cigarette over the railing, “I’m still breathing, Jay.” Carefully, he brings those scarred knuckles up to his lips, “I’m fine, I’m _okay_.”  
  
Jason barks out a dazed sounding laugh, tossing his head to the sky for its seemingly non-existent wisdoms again, “Despite my apparent  _best efforts_ the other night--yeah, guess you are, Goldie.”

His eyebrows furrow, Jason _still_ won’t look at him.

“... Jason, you're making this bigger than it needs to be--”

That garners a genuinely frustrated snarl, that has Dick dunking his head in shame, “Well, _I_ think you’re not making a big _enough_ deal out of this--Jesus _Christ_ , Grayson have… have you looked in a mirror?” He rubs a frustrated hand through his hair, the hand Dick isn’t holding. “ _Fuck… fucking hell…_ I. The point of avoiding you was so you wouldn’t get caught up in all mine and Bruce’s bullshit and everything it entails,

“I never wanted to be  _Willis_ , you know? Never wanted to hurt people that,” Jason swallows, eyes darting away again, “that are actually  _important_. And now I'm here hurting you, one person I promised I'd never hurt. The first person who ever gave the stupid crime alley hoodrat a fighting chance... The fuckin' irony's staggering is what it is...” He presses his fingers up through messing bangs, " _Damnit..._ "

Dick doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just quietly clutches his hand, “...Put your duffle back in the closet,” he says after a somber pause, “we’ll talk about it, and I’ll take care of your hand.”

Jason just looks so… defeated, when their eyes meet again, it twists Dick’s gut into knots. “What’s there to talk about?”

And Dick shrugs helplessly, “ _Everything._ Worked when we were kids, didn't it? It’ll work now--talking about it helps… sometimes.” Dick feels his voice grow firmer and more confident the longer he speaks, “We’re gonna be okay.”

This silence stretches long enough to make Dick nervous, before cautiously, like a cornered animal, Jason nods, “... Okay.” Dick’s knees feel like they may just buckle in relief, so he curls his arms around Jason’s waist again and _clings,_ breathing in that familiar scent of leather and cigarette smoke.

~~_(He still loves him--God save him, he still loves him so much it hurts.)_ ~~

"... You know," Dick starts after the silence has become something comfortable, lighter, "If you had a thing for asphyxiation, you could've just said so, Jaybird without all the added drama, I mean" he mutters a tease to lighten the mood, relishing in the somewhat offended look it earns him. Anything's better than his pup brooding worse than Batman on his fire escape.

 _"God_ \--" Jason rolls his eyes long and suffering, "I forgot how much of a _dick_ you can be sometimes, Grayson."

"Gotta live up to my namesake, Jay! It's my brand."

"You're lucky you still make me soft." 

"Still?" And Dick chews his lip, anxious.  
  
"Still." And Jason gives his hand a tentative squeeze.

***

 

Red Hood gradually dials back on his previous murder spree, and Gotham breathes easy again.

Black Mask is in Blackgate for a least while thanks to some rather incriminating files Jason had handed off to Dick on the fly, and the Joker’s sealed up tight in Arkham. Again. _(Again and again, Dick would never be enthusiastic about murder but hell, if_ _**he** didn’t feel safe then he'd bet every penny he's worth that Jason definitely felt even **less** safe.) _

For now, the Bats have reached something of an uneasy impasse with their bloody prodigal son, but Bruce is staying away, letting Dick handle the 'Jason situation', and that's far more than Dick ever expected to be allowed. --Dick’s thinking of introducing his chicks to him soon, in fact; Jason’s always had a soft spot for kids.

“Why are you doing this?” A voice asks Dick suddenly, startling him out of his musings.

“Already asked me that, Jay-Jay, this is the third time now.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but watches like a hawk as Dick methodically resorts out all of his hard files by way of case, subject, and smartly color-coded tabs—per Jay’s instructions. Although, said former Robin has a turbulent look in his eyes that has nothing to do with their current task of overhauling Detective Grayson's entire file organization system. “I don’t… get you. Y’know I’m not gonna change my views. My way’s the only one that gets results, as far as I’m concerned,” the other man’s jaw sets like iron. “You know damn well the world wouldn’t shed a tear over people like the Penguin or Dent. Least of all the Clown.”

He isn’t wrong.

Jason Todd is stubborn to a fault, a brick wall with a moral compass as unshakeable as Bruce’s--Dick’s been watching them butt heads since Jay was Robin, after all. It’s nothing he isn’t used to either, even Damian he’s moderately sure is just pretending out of a mix of courtesy and a bleeding need to gain Bruce’s approval. Jason’s beliefs, in contrast, took root _deep_ in his veins, down to the marrow, beat in by Park Row and a mean childhood that spoke of broken whiskey bottles and long nights spent in alleyways hiding to lick his wounds.

And Dick _does_  know this. Jason’s told him the stories time and time again.

“ _You know damn well what I mean_.” Jason repeats, insisting. He doesn’t snarl, but he’s speaking through gritted teeth, tapping his fingers irritatedly against the tabletop as he takes Dick’s prolonged silence as disagreement. (There’s another difference, Dick’s started noticing, Jason is more impatient these days, more insecure, even as he’s relearning Dick all over again he's still quick to assume the worst.)

Dick pauses in his meticulous file sorting to hum, taking Jason’s short temper in stride, “Told you already—I want you back. And I’m  _getting_  you back, the good, the bad, and the ugly, even if I have to drag you kicking and hollering to my side. Your views  _do_  matter but we can work on those,” Jason opens his mouth to argue and Dick steamrolls right over him, “  _We’re going to work on them._  I’m still friends with Starfire, I’m still friends with Roy and Garth, they’re still mine, even if they  _do_  tend to fall into the ‘gray’ side of the spectrum."

“I’m _not_ Bruce, Jason, and I never will be. Stop treating me like I am.”

Jason scoffs, it’s not a mean one this time, it’s more bemused than anything, “... Christ, almost five years and you sure haven’t changed.”

Dick arches an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Your possessive tendencies—still bossy as all get out too.”

“You’re the same way,” Dick says cheerfully, “You’re just more quiet and broody about it—like Bruce ironically.” Jason makes a constipated face at that, like he isn’t sure whether to feel offended, disgusted, uncomfortable or some mix of the three.

“ _Oh,_ don’t look at me like that, you’re more his son than I’ve ever been. Tim and Dami, too.” Dick snorts before returning to his files, out of the corner of his eye, he notices Jay recoil as though struck.

“I’m not his fucking son anymore, Dick, to him I’m as good as _dead_. I... I ain’t the same, I never will be again.” Not for the first time, Dick desperately wants to go back in time to the night of Jason and Bruce’s standoff, wishes he had the presence of mind to knock Bruce out before talking down his former Robin. _Because he'd actually said those things, how dare he say those things to Jason's face--_

“I don’t think I can even go _back there_ if I wanted to try. I can’t… I shouldn’t have even gone back to _you_ in the first place,” Jason’s eyes linger on the fading ring around Dick’s neck ruefully, “Your bruises can attest to that, Golden Boy.”

His voice sounds wrecked right then, as though he’s trying to summon up enough anger and vitriol to cut deep, to _hurt,_ to drive Dick as far away as humanly possible—but he can’t quite find the fire to do so, not under Dick’s steady gaze. Because this is Jason, _Dick’s_ Jason. His Jaybird, who still keeps a collection of Austen and classics in his Safe House on an Ikea bookshelf, will still go all soft and pliant whenever Dick just lounges out on top of his chest and murmurs sweet things into a shirt that smells of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne while playing with his hair.

Dick hears all of the little things Jason doesn’t say in the silence that overtakes them, it’s enough to make a frown cross Dick’s features.

“You _are._ ” Dick says, voice stubborn and firm as he lingers closer, touching their foreheads, “You’re mine. You still smile for me, still tolerate me, still take _care_ of me. You’re brave and stubborn, _my_ brave Robin. --Not what the Pit or whoever Talia tried to mold you into. _Mine_.”

Jason’s jaw tenses, lips parting like he wants to say something scathing, “Jay,” Dick whispers before he really gets going, nosing against the crook of Jason’s shoulder. “You’re not leaving me... Not again. And sure as  _hell_  not over something like this."

Slowly, gradually Jason’s muscles unwind before he lets out a carefully controlled exhale, “... Listen, Dick. _Prettybird,_ fuck. I don’t think--”

“You’re _not_.” Dick presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Jay lets out a soft, pleasing sound that sounds starved, his arms locking around Dick’s waist, lightly reeling him down to perch on his lap. This does nothing to deter Dick, if nothing else it just makes him want to keep _going_. “I believe,” Dick says, between butterfly kisses teased to Jason’s cheeks and jawline, feeling him tremble underneath his lips, “That.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Need…”

And Dick stops, pausing just shy of Jay’s mouth, he’s never done _that_ before. This... _thing_ between them--it was a lot like toeing a tightrope made of piano string. Something’s bound to break eventually if things continue as they are, but the two of them are both still too uncertain to take the plunge.

Jason breathes out against Dick’s lips, breaking him out of his thoughts, they’re only separated by a few millimeters “... I need…?” He presses with an off note to his tone, and Dick’s eyes flicker down to _stare_.

Tension charges between them, a crushing pressure building and winding up in Dick’s chest _tighter and tighter, until he can’t take it anymore--_

… Like a coward, he slips out of Jason’s lap, movements flexible and smooth as water as he stands. “America’s Most Wanted,” he draws in a steady breath and forces an easy grin onto his face. “We haven’t done one of those in a while, I’ve got popcorn!” To Dick’s own shock, his words don’t so much as betray a tremble.

(Maybe this would be easier if they’d gotten the chance to move past that initial stage of uncertainty—just naturally progressed to the dating stage when college rolled around. It’s almost funny, how they’re doing this all out of sync.)

He wonders if Jason can still read him like a book--for once, Dick isn’t sure if he _wants_ him to.

Seafoam teal locks with electric blue, Jason’s gaze is somber for the longest while like he really _can_ see right through him; all the way to Dick’s soul if he wanted to. ~~_(He always feels so much. So deeply.)_~~

However long it is, it’s enough that Dick’s palms felt clammy and for his nape to sweat. When Jason’s lips twitch warily and he stands as well, pressing his fingers up through his inky curls, Dick doesn’t stiffen, instead, he feels the anxiety in his chest carefully unwind when warm lips touch his forehead.  _Safe, this is safe._

“Anything you want, Prettybird. Anything you want.”

***

 

Dick’s laid out across Donna’s couch like a modern day renaissance painting, all tangled tanned limbs in her various throw blankets and patterned silks as he just rants and raves about his Jason-problems in his boxer briefs. Donna is used to this though, Dick’s been coming to her to lament about Jason since they were silly kids still wearing their mentors’ symbols.

On this specific occasion, however, Donna just gives him a befuddled look. “... I don’t understand.”

“I don't know! It’d be _weird_ and I have commitment issues, Donna.”

“First off—I swear we’ve had this conversation before, it seems redundant at this point. And second, you are _literally_ the most committed person I know, hon.”

“That’s not the type of commitment I’m talking about Don.” Dick says as he rolls his way onto Donna’s lap, chewing his bottom lip swollen. Donna blinks.

“Relationships are  _allowed_ to change, Dick. Yours and Roy’s did.”

Dick groans, “It’s not the  _same_. Me and Roy were like, I dunno. Temporary? It was weird, Jason was important to both of us, feelings weren’t involved really, wait." Dick winces, " _Shit._  That was a shitty thing to say wasn’t it?” He covers his face with a frustrated whine as Donna hums and cards through his hair with her free hand before she pauses to unscrew a bottle of obsidian nail polish.

“Roy will forgive you.”

“I _know_ fuck he’s amazing, I love him so much.”

“But you’re not _in love_ with him,” Donna comments knowingly as Dick shoots her a dirty look.

"He's my brother, I love him like I do Wally."

She giggles at that too, Dick can't for the life of him figure out what the joke there is.

“But with Jason it's different... Jason's _special_. Like you are. Wouldn’t it be like… like, say, _me_ asking you to kiss me to double check to make sure I’m not actually into you in a ‘Bi-Way’.” He makes a point of using air quotes, a disgusted grimace on his face at the thought.

Donna’s arches an accusing eyebrow, “We _have_ done that before. With tongue. You immediately ran to the bathroom and washed out your mouth for seven minutes.”

“You tasted like onions and bell peppers,” Dick groans at the unpleasant memory, voice muffled by Donna’s lap.

“It’s your fault for suggesting we try swapping spit out of the blue because you were feeling insecure over a few assumptions about how our relationship should be, dear.” Donna says looking bored as she starts in on paints her nails, “Should’ve factored in Thai takeout, Detective JR. Also, stop comparing Jason to me. --It’s weird.”

“ _Rude—_ but not important, my point is…” And Dick goes red in the face, “He’s just so _handsome_ , Donna. Like, _roguishly handsome,_ even more now that he's out of his teens. Every time he does that lip-pout-thing at me or that _smile,_ it makes me want to just… just straddle his face and have his tongue--”

“-- _Way_ too much information.”

“... Sorry,” Dick mumbles sheepishly, fading into a whine, “but my point still stands, Donna--it’s not _fair._ ”

“You’ve been kissing him for years.”

“Not for _real._ ”

Donna goes back to her nails, “Looked like it was pretty darn real to _Jason,_  from what I remember about your weird little dance as teens.”

Dick furrows his brow, already shaking his head. “... I’ve been like that with him from the get-go, though. It’s nothing new.”

(And it _isn’t_ new, the first night they met Dick dragged him along with their fingers intertwined for Chrissake, they slept in the same bed on the average for _years,_ their current sleeping arrangments notwithstanding.)

“You appear to think that it is normal that this arrangement didn’t raise any warning flags to you. I regret to inform you, Dick, that it is _not_ normal. _It is very not normal_ \--so not normal, in fact, that I’m impressed you held out this long without jumping that boy’s bones--”

_“I’m serious!”_

Really, he’s about as touchy with Jason as he is with Donna, though, admittedly Dick doesn’t kiss on Donna or _anyone_ as much as he does Jay. There aren’t as many quiet moments either, even if Jason would let him ramble off for hours on end about nothing without even blinking an eyelash. Donna doesn’t look at him the way Jay does, Donna doesn’t steal Dick’s breath away, Donna’s curves don’t appeal to him like Jason’s strong jawline seems to...

... Okay. So maybe he  _is_ a bit more touchy with Jason.

Said Amazon, meanwhile, slowly puts down her nail polish before she speaks, pulling Dick out of his daydream. “... Hon. You’re so lost on him even  _Walls_  is resigned to ceding defeat. And I thought he’d _never_ give up.”

“Wally?” Dick blinks thrown off balance, “What does _Wally_ have to do with this?… Oh _no,_ is this like the Starfire thing--?” Donna snorts at that, leaning down to kiss his nose.

“Oh, _honey_. Never, _ever,_ change, okay?”

Dick crinkles his nose. Donna’s right, this conversation _is_ familiar, he doesn’t understand why everyone in his life had to be so damn cryptic all the time. “You know if you wouldn’t act all suspicious and vague I’d probably solve my problems faster.”

“You’re just dense in all the wrong things, and life isn’t easy.”

Dick sighs, “... I’m guessing that applies to that thing with Jay too?”

“In between weaning him off the whole murder thing, yes.”

“He... only kills rapists, human traffickers, and domestic abusers now so, uh, progress?”

Donna hums, “Let me guess, he gets you into the ethical morals debate and you can’t argue with him without pulling the old ‘It’s not how we do things’, Bat card?”

He groans, “It’s a _work in progress_.”

“How’s the alleged crime lord thing going?”

“ _Donna--”_

“Okay, okay, one problem at a time. Back to Jason and your current self-imposed relationship limbo, right?”

“... Right. I’m... not sure what’ll happen if we change it, change _us_ ,” Dick’s brows draw together, “what if I lose him?”

Donna scoffs, “Oh  _please_ , you’ve had him by the collar from day one. I haven’t seen him lately but I’m willing to bet all of my stocks that he still looks at you the same way he used to when we were kids. I'm an Amazon, remember? Love and compassion 'experts', and here's the last hint I'm giving you," And she meets his eyes right then, gaze even and unwavering, "That’s not the sort of love that just _dies. W_ hatever it is you and Jason had-- _still_  have, even after years apart it's being given a second chance. And I say, since the universe has given you a second chance, that you damn well grasp it by the horns with both hands and you never  _ever_ let it go again.

"You'll regret it if you do--life's too short for regrets, especially for people like us, Dick." She says firmly.

That gets her a slow blink, and Dick goes quiet for a beat, fidgeting with the tassel on one of the tacky throw pillows he’s clutching to his chest. “...How did he _used_ to look at me?” He finally asks, tentatively.

Donna’s eyes soften up and dance, like she knows a secret she's not telling, “Find out for yourself.”

 

***

It's been about five months. Jason hasn't left yet--but Dick's replaced the couch with a futon, for the 'bad nights'. ( _I can usually feel when it's gonna be a bad night,_ Jason had conceded, _if you're that deadset on sleeping next to me... let me be... just on the bad nights_ _.)_

Tonight, however, post a rather disastrous patrol, Jason has a stormy look in his eyes as he sutures a nasty gash in Dick’s side, Dick watches his jaw clench and unclench in barely masked anger _._ But all he does is hum lightly and fret, touching the fresh bandage on Jason’s cheek. This does nothing to pause Jason’s clever fingers, at the very least Jason’s stopped flinching at his touch these days since he's started crashing at Dick's apartment.

“I hope it doesn’t scar,” Dick says without thinking about it, “wear your helmet next time you come to pull me out of a mess, it’ll give me some peace of mind.”

Jason shoots him a disbelieving look, before letting out a short, slightly hysterical laugh, “You almost got eviscerated, Dick. And you got the _nerve_ to chirp at me ‘bout _scars_ , birdie?”

Dick’s cheeks color, “I mean when you put it that way I sound ridiculous.”

“Because you _are._ Where is your armor, actually? This is the first time I’ve ever stripped you down myself--thinnest fuckin’ kevlar _I’ve_ ever felt. When you were shot I just figured--I dunno, that you just forwent the armor, not that you just straight up didn’t  _wear any_  --even the vest you wore as _Robin_ had better protection than this...”

Dick shrugs, sheepish, “Easier to move in. It stops _most_ blades--just not League-grade ones, as you can probably see.”

“That was your excuse for the scaley shorts.”

“ _Leotard--_ ”

“Whatever, so you’ve graduated from your baby pants to the Unitard School of Big Boy Uniforms, congratulations, _whoopty-fucking-doo._ ” Jason scowls, neatly tying off the sutures as he stands up to pace.

“Ya should’ve called for backup... _Christ, Dickie_ \--the hell is B even doing...”

Seeing Jason this worked up makes him frown, it feels like he’s being lectured by Alfred. Dick fidgets, the excuse he gives feels hollow, “... Me and Bruce are on the outs again.” ( _Because of Jay, because of that damn memorial case Dick has always wanted to smash. They got in another screaming match last week.)_

Jason stops, narrowing his eyes in that calculating way of his, “... _How_ on the outs?”

Dick shifts uncomfortably and almost doesn’t answer, but when Jason snarls impatiently he folds, unable to meet those eyes. “... _Really_ on the outs. Like, we can’t even go out in mask and cowl without getting into it on the rooftops, 'outs'.” He sinks back into the couch, letting out a frustrated exhale.

“Is it about--” Jason stops and frowns as Dick nods before he can even finish.

“--... He's angry I won’t drag you to Arkham or let him do it himself, _I’m_ angry he won’t take my advice to talk to you on neutral ground during daylight hours at a coffee shop or something with Alfred and me as a buffer.”

Dick winces when Jay’s entire expression darkens, “Just for that? You got hurt when you needed backup just for _that_?”

He shrugs, “In my defense, I didn’t go in thinking I’d need backup. Babs contacted you after I went dark, I guess.”

“You were bleeding out in an alleyway. Surrounded.”

“Again, tactical retreat,” Dick smiles helplessly, “there were ninjas--with kevlar cutting blades.”

“... So outsourced muscle?”

“Outsourced muscle.”

Jason glares down hard at Dick’s sutures as if they’d personally wronged him. “... I’m coming with you next time.” He declares, softer than Dick expected, as he skims his fingers back over those fresh stitches, and it’s like Dick’s heart jumps in his throat--what he feels is a mix of indignation, hope, and foreboding.

“Jay--”

“Not a negotiation, Goldie.” Dick bristles at that, despite the warmth lingering in his chest.

“I’m not _helpless_. I can take care of myself and my sector just fine--Red Hood’s not even a vigilante, he’s a crime lord for Chrissake.”

“Red Hood can be a lot of things.” Jason answers unphased, eyes still fixed on Dick’s side as he wraps the gauze in place, “A mass-murdering psychopath who gets his chuckles off on child-murder used to hold the mantle, literally anything else I do with it is a leg-up in comparison.” Dick gives him a dry look. He sure didn’t miss this part of having Jason in his life, Jason’s overprotective tendencies used to rival Bruce’s on a _good_ day.

“You took it up out of _spite_.”

“No, it was for the spite _and_ the sheer unparalleled theatrics. Both were equally important parts of my plan,” Jason exhales, “Before you fucked it up, I mean.”

“First of all, I didn’t do anything but show up and we both know it—also it was an uncharacteristically _terrible_ plan. I’m kind of disappointed, you’re better than that,” The words are out before he can take them back, Jason looks at Dick, grinning like he’s already won. Dick’s cheeks burn as he huffs in annoyance, eyes focusing on the muted television set instead of the other’s smug visage.

“All the more reason for you to let me patrol with ya’ again. We both cover the Narrows, anyhow.”

“... I didn’t say _yes_.” That gets him a rather offensive eye roll.  

“You’ve already agreed because you’re doing that dumb curt-ultimatum-thing you do when you’re at the end of your rope in an argument.” Jason leans back on the couch lazily, stealing a sidelong look in Dick’s direction. The look in those eyes are feline clever—it makes Dick wonder if Jay may have done better with _Selina_ instead of Bruce.

“This is _not_ an argument, this is you trying to bully me into partnering up with a literal crime lord,” Dick mutters groaning before just flopping over on his good side like a dead fish. “I don’t deserve this. Nightwing’s poor reputation...”

“Should’a thought of that before you went up against an army of League level mercenaries.” Jason is wholly unsympathetic towards Dick’s plight. Dick promptly pouts.

“Hey now, I won didn’t I?”

“You musta’ got your memories all mixed from the blood loss, Goldie. Might I remind you: _eviscerated._ ”

Dick groans again, burying his face into a particularly stiff couch cushion. Deep down, he knows Jason winning this argument was unavoidable from the start, it’s how things have always been between them, really.

 

***

Red Hood and Nightwing are yet another balancing act, different from the tension between Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. It’s closer to what they used to be as ‘Robin’, but not quite.

Nightwing hits sharper, graceful and precise; every move he makes, every flip, every twirl, flows like water in a tranquil brook. If he flew as Robin, he downright _soars_ as Nightwing. --He still goes high.

Red Hood hits harder, feral and brutal; he throws his body weight around like a bull, his fighting style is an utterly unholy mix of dirty street brawler with a hodgepodge of more than several martial arts he’s crushed and molded into something that’s his alone. --He still goes low.

 

_(Sometimes when they’re back to back, Dick catches himself staring.)_

 

Why the infamous Red Hood comes to Nightwing’s rescue more often than all of Gotham’s Bats combined absolutely baffles the collective underground. But no one is willing to argue with Gotham’s Damned Prince and the Narrows’ Bluebird. That’s a straight ticket to being shot point blank by the Hood if you bring the subject up in his presence--with Nightwing it’s a ticket to being dropped off right at the GCPD's doorstep. The situation is a conundrum, granted, but still very ill-advised to go looking for answers over.

Later, Dick finds out from Babs when she mentions it offhandedly that Red Hood had all but gutted his main gang a few months after deciding to play backup to Nightwing’s patrol. Not completely, he still kept the drug trade flowing, still made sure every last kingpin and Gotham knew who exactly would raise hell if they stepped out of line, but there’s no more deals, nor active inner workings. The drugs go in circles. 

People don’t _die_ when they patrol together, either. Dick hopes the lack of lethal force on Jason's end is a sign of progress. --Not to say that Jason _doesn’t_ kill. The Red Hood still very much kills, but he doesn’t do so on Nightwing’s watch, Dick hadn’t even had to ask him to refrain once, curiously enough.

 

“Why?” he asks out of the blue one night, watching as Jason lifts his eyes from where they’re re-reading Orwell. They’re both wide awake after a lengthy patrol, there’d been an incident where Jason allowed Dick to talk him down with minimal fuss from shooting a trafficker clean through the skull. Dick's still got most of Nightwing on, Jason's down to civvies.

(It still makes Dick’s chest feel warm, knowing Jason can still pick up a conversation with him, knows all his tells even after so long.)

“Nightwing ain’t a murderer. Inaction's still murder in the Bat’s eyes.” He snaps the book shut, a guarded look in his gaze. "I'm not gonna be the reason he turns you out and keeps you from those kids you love so damn much."

Dick furrows his eyebrows, “Isn’t it still inaction if I already know you’re murdering people.”

“You don’t have any moral obligation to stop what doesn’t happen before your eyes. That’s the difference between an accomplice and a bystander.”  
  
Dick scoffs, crossing his arms, “So, you think I’m a bystander, then?”

Jason arches up a brow, “You’re more like a trouble magnet. --I’m trouble. Shoulda' listened to Papa Bats, Dickie."

“Stop changing the subject.”

“We’re still on the subject, all I’m sayin’ is that you ain't-a killer, I don’t want you to be. So, you don’t have to be around when I do what you and Bruce _can’t_.”

Dick sucks in a sharp breath at Jason’s nonplussed tone and opens his mouth to argue back. But he can’t find the words. He stares down hard at the dingy apartment carpet until he distantly hears the sound of the creaking floorboards and a broad shadow falls over him in the moonlight. Blunt nails gently card through his curls and he’s weak _\--_ _fuck he’s so weak--_ because Dick melts on the spot.

“--Not a monster, not the way I am. So I gotta take out the trash for you an’ Bruce, see?”

Jason pulls him close, Dick presses his face into Jay’s warm collarbone and just _breathes_. There’s a long silence, “You’re not a monster.”

“Spoken to B, lately?”

Dick tucks himself closer, he wants to crawl into Jason’s very soul, make his new home there, mend the frayed and fractured edges, keep and protect it. _God,_ Dick can’t help thinking as Jason’s arms give him a squeeze, _I’ve ruined him, haven’t I?_

“You’re _not._  And you’re not just some… _glorified janitor_ , Jay. Jesus. Not a martyr, a sacrifice, _whatever_ you think you are--our messes aren’t yours to clean...” Dick stops and draws in a deep breath as he forces himself to continue, “And… and I never should have dragged you into this life in the first place,” _(Because it’s on his head. It was always on him, wasn’t it?)_

His voice gains a trimmer, and Jason goes _very_  still, so still that Dick wonders if he’s made him angry, before the other speaks in a calm, measured voice, “--You didn’t drag me into  _anything,_  Dick.” Fingers knot in his hair, and yank his head back up and away from his collar, forcing Dick to meet Jason’s eyes, the tug _stings._  It makes his heart race. “ _Nothin_ ’ ya hear me? I made my choices, all of ‘em. Good, bad, and the ugly. You don’t get to imply that you regret a damn second of it just because you inherited the worst of Bruce’s guilt complex--”

“-- _I was lonely_.” Dick cuts in, the words are said in such a loud, panicked rush that it shocks his former partner right into silence again. He swallows twice before continuing in a soft, wistful murmur,  “... I was _lonely,_ Jay _, a_ nd selfish, and… and when I first saw you something _clicked._ It just felt like--like the right thing to _do_ , you know? Dragging you home with me.” He laughs a watery laugh, his eyes feel hot, Jason’s grip on his hair wavers. “You were _my_ scruffy street pup… Mine. And I was stupid and cocky and I decided to  _lean_ on you. I befriended you, looked at your mannerisms, saw what you responded to, made you like me...

"Because I needed someone who understood. So I wouldn't have to carry Bruce's baggage alone.  _My baggage_ alone." 

“But… but then... you were just _gone._ I didn't know what to  _do_ , you were just gone and buried and I wasn't even allowed to...” He’d put Jason in his family colors and bled him dry. God, he was probably going to bleed Tim and Damian dry too one day. Dick’s not sure if he can handle more kids dying in his colors because of what he’d started. Distantly, Dick feels Jason gently begin walking him backward towards the bed, cupping the back of his nape, Jason's eyes are unbearably soft and troubled. There’s a concerned furrow in his brow, and Dick’s face just crumples. _“You were gone, Jay--”_

“ _Dickie_...”

"It was _my fault,_ I should've found you a family, hell, a  _real home_ , somewhere with a better father-figure that wasn't Bruce."

“S’not your fault,” Jason said firmly pressing Dick into the bed by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him again with a little shake when Dick immediately tries to turn to hide his wet face in the bedsheets.

"Jason--” But Jason is already knocking their foreheads together, something in his gaze is fierce, it makes Dick’s throat go dry. But he pushes through it, “I told you, they were my colors--I gave them to you. You were my  _responsibili--"_  

Dick’s voice is promptly cut off as Jason leans in impossibly close, before closing the remaining distance between their lips. The contact makes him melt in an entirely different way than Jay’s kisses usually do, it warms him down to the tips of his toes. Jason presses his fingers under Dick’s back, finding Nightwing’s zipper and bit by bit peeling away the second skin. When Dick’s lips part, Jason doesn’t waste any time, tongue immediately licking forward into a warm mouth as Dick’s fingers knot desperately in the tank top covering Jason’s back _(h_ _e wants it off, wants to feel Jay’s bare skin under his touch--)_

By the time Jason pulls back to allow them both a break for air, his pupils blown wide as he drinks in the other man below him. A rough thumb skirts over swollen red and gasping lips, there’s still tears in Dick’s dazed eyes. “Stupid and selfless,” he just breathes out against Dick’s parted lips, nipping the bottom one sharply chasing a lingering taste of iron. 

“Thoughtful...” _Kiss._ “Protective,” _Kiss._ “Don’t think about yourself no way, s’always ‘bout the people you love isn’t it…?”

The last kiss is more aggressive, longer than the last three, long enough to have Dick grasping at Jason’s shoulders--only to have his entire body _shudder_ as powerful hips rock him right into the mattress. Jay releases his lips again, his gaze is somehow darker as he boxes Dick in with his forearms. The greens of Jason’s eyes are little more than a ring now.

"... We, we were _talking,_ " Dick manages, voice unraveling as Jason's hands caress his bare sides.

"Later." And Jason drags his front teeth along the skin of his jugular, "Can unpack how wrong you are later..."

Dick lets out a dazed hum, fingers moving to tangle in Jason's hair looking up at him in wonder. _He's beautiful like this,_ Dick can't help thinking, the most beautiful he's ever seen him.

“Hell,” Jason murmurs, “ _hell_ , how’d ya get prettier over these last few years I’ve been gone, Birdie? Was hard enough back then, with you _touching_ on me all the time, before dancin’ just outta my reach. Then I come back an’ you’re all slimmed out an’ beautiful--all grown up… playing the exact same maddenin’ game,” He presses a hard kiss to Dick’s shoulder, trailing butterfly kisses up along his pulse, “ _fuckin hell…_

“Wanna rip you to shreds.”

With that, he rocks again and this time entire bedrocks with him, Dick’s legs move to wrap around Jason’s waist as his breath hitches in a gasp. His eyes are still red rimmed from earlier, but now they’re watering for a completely different reason as his brain starts to grow increasingly fuzzy from a combination of Jason’s familiar scent and warmth.

“Jason...” Dick whispers, that fuzzy feeling at the forefront as he tentatively rocks his hips _up,_  he’s already half-hard in his athletic cup. “ _Jay--_ ” And Jason pauses briefly to let him breathe.

“ ** _Need_ ** _you, Jay,_ always needed you--”

He’s cut off by yet another kiss followed by an intense gaze as those seafoam irises seem to flicker with an almost iridescent green--Dick blames it on the dim yellow lamplight.

“That’s right, Sugar,” Jason drawls an exhale, fingers moving to pull down the rest of Dick’s uniform, teeth dragging roughly across each newly revealed inch of freed golden-toned skin, as Dick feels himself quiver, “an’ don’t you forget it.”

Dick stops thinking after that, Jason’s always been so good when it comes to making his brain go quiet. This time is no different--at least not really.

 

Turns out, Jason fucks just the same as he shows his love.

\--When Jay’s finally inside of him, he’s gentle but _intense_ , heartbreaking careful but _overwhelming,_  smothering Dick with his body near completely, like he can shield him from everything the world might throw at them and then some. It’s suffocating-- _it’s elation_  --it’s too much-- _it’s not enough._  

“C’mon, sweetheart…” he rumbles against Dick’s ear, rocking his hips right up against the spot inside of him that makes Dick’s vision white out. “Hollar for me--ya can do that can’t ya’--? Oh c’mon, gimme a good one... Gonna ruin those pretty lips if you keep bittin’ on ‘em like that...” And out of all the ways Dick thought he might die, Jason Todd’s Lower Gotham Drawl was the _last thing_ he expected to do him in.

And damn him straight to hell, Dick comes just like that--with a sharp keen on his lips, as Jason _makes_ him keep eye contact, gripping his cheeks with firm fingers to keep Dick’s head from tossing and squirming. His hips jerk and twitch, weakly rocking _up_ against Jason’s languid thrusts as he rides out his climax. (  _So good it’s been forever since he’s felt this good--shouldn’t have waited.)_

Then just like that, Jason pulls out, and Dick finds himself whining at the empty feeling that immediately follows--had Jason climaxed? He hadn’t felt--

His hips are then lifted effortlessly off the mattress, legs moved to rest on Jay’s shoulders, before Jason promptly leans forward, and presses the flat of his tongue against the rim of his entrance. Dick lets out a sharp inhale, feeling the blood and heat rushing to his face and achingly sensitive cock as Jason thoroughly eats him out with that _clever, clever tongue, oh fuck--_

“Jay-- _JayJayJay_ \--I’m gonna--” His eyes roll back as Jason teases his oversensitive rim, faint hitching gasps fall from his lips, his twitches turn into spasms as Jason’s eyes glint mischievously, adding in another finger to tease his prostate. Dick lets out a wanton wail as he climaxes on Jay’s mouth and fingers alone, hands shuddering as they tightly twist backward on the bed sheets. “Oh  _god_ \--”

Jason pulls back, wetting his lips, “...Huh. Faster than I thought.”  
  
But Dick can’t manage the words to answer, because Jason’s fingers are still pistoning into him, making his brain turn to mush, forcing his toes to shiver and curl, all he can manage is a pitched sound and a weak arch of his back. Jason hadn’t even let him go soft.

He can’t think straight right now either, not really, but he squeezes his thighs together, just above Jason’s head, desperately urging his mouth downward and there’s that wild, grin again that makes his heart pound.

“ _Saints alive, sugar,_ gonna give a guy an ego if you keep that attitude up, already came once over, ya’know?” Dick pulls him down more insistently, letting out a needy sound he’ll deny he made in the morning. “Who am I to deny my audience an encore...? Gonna make you _scream_ , pretty boy.”  

 

Dick is loose-limbed and pliant by the time Jason finally pulls his mouth away from his hole and shifts so he’s all but bending him in half, eyes misty and full of the type of smoldering intent that drives Dick a little bit crazy. He’s practically melted into the mattress after a forty-minute session as he shudders and twitches through his second dry orgasm--or maybe it was number three? The pleasure and pain all just keep running together. ~~_It’s fucking incredible._~~

“Gonna take care of ya’ till mornin’, Goldie. Gonna take you over an’ over again ‘till you can’t think of doing this with anyone else ever again--” 

“Woul--wouldn’  _wanna._ ” Dick breathes all but  _sobbing_ as Jason lines himself up with his entrance again, Jason pauses to listen, fingers digging into Dick’s hips. “Only you Jay, just _you_  --You’re _mine_.”

Jason presses his forehead to Dick’s as he keeps his gaze, slowly sinking into him once again, swallowing Dick’s drawn-out moan with a heated kiss.

“Keep sayin’ things like that,” Jason breathes out against his lips, “an I might never let you go.”

The implied  _“even if I should”_ in that statement goes unsaid between them. Dick doesn’t mind it, he just reels his pup in close and lets him keep stealing his breath away.

***

The following morning, Dick is still smothered in Jason’s strong scent and comforting warmth, the other man’s nose is likewise buried in his tangled curls. But there’s a mess drying in between Dick’s legs that has him shifting, uncomfortable- _-have to get up, have to wipe himself down at least--_

Dick’s valiant attempts at escape from Jay’s grasp are promptly thwarted by way of a pale pair of muscular arms tightening around his middle.

“Goin’ someplace, Prettybird?” Mumbles a gruff voice, logged down by sluggishness and sleep, Jay’s always been bad with mornings. 

“I’m sticky and you didn’t wear a condom.” Dick says flatly though he raises his head to press affectionate kisses to Jay’s neck, then his collar, then part way along his jawline, Dick absently realizes he can’t seem to stop. Jay just grips him tighter. “Shower with me?” He murmurs in the middle of finding the other’s lips, “Please...?”

Jason arches up a skeptical eyebrow, “You are _severely_  overestimating my self-control here--I hope you know that.”

Dick blinks in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ‘you’ve been my wet dream since puberty and this game of keep away we’ve been playing for ten years has strained me to my limits’, so, in short, if I go in there with you, you’re gonna get fucked against the shower wall. And that’s only assuming you can stand after last night.” Jason’s eyes go a little hazy at the memory, “You switched languages towards the end there, by the way, you were starting to blank out on me though, so you might not remember... It was stupid hot.”  

Dick’s face reddens, he lets out a choked sort of: _“Oh.”_ (It’s probably a bad thing, how compelling he finds the mental image.)

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.” Jason’s got that crooked grin on his face again as he reaches up a hand to tangle his fingers in Dick’s messy bedhead properly, dragging the other man the rest of the way into a breathless kiss that makes Dick just want to melt straight into the mattress and not get up until well past three pm.

“What did I switch to…?”  
  
Jason hummed, “Spanish and broken bits of Roma, mostly. The Italian I caught you used mostly for swears, though.” He grins a little crookedly, the expression is full of warmth. “Afterwards I tried speaking Arabic to see what reaction I’d get, and you forgot English for a bit, I think.”

Dick tries to recall the memory and his brows furrow, “... That pillow talk wasn’t in English?”

“Nope. I tried like four on you and whenever I’d switch to a different one, you’d switch too.”

Dick feels his eyes narrow, “Wait… are _you_ why my dreams were in mostly _French_ last night? That was so stressful. My French is _awful_.” Jason snorts, unrepentant.

“Probably was my fault, I kept whispering into your hair for a while after you passed out. And besides, you _need_ the practice. Where’s your romantic funny bone, Golden Boy? Don’t you know French is the language of love?”

Dick scoffs, hiding a grin as he swats at Jason’s bicep, “You’re impossible.”

“Mmhm. But still yours… right?” Jason inclines his head and catches Dick’s lips in another one of those overwhelming kisses. It’s the type of kiss that just makes the rest of the world seem to fall away, _and goddamn, it’s too fucking early for Jason to do this to him twice in a row._

“--I’m not opposed to it, you know? The shower thing,” Dick breathes out once Jay lets him, heart hammering in his chest as he grins through his flush, his hands reach up to wind around Jason’s shoulders. “Though a bath might be the better choice.” He presses his fingers up through disheveled locks. 

“You _did_  do all the work last night... S’only fair I get to do all the work this morning, you know, I’m flexible enough to try all _kinds_ of positions.” Jason’s eyes darken further and his smile slowly widens, promising trouble.

“Oh, _babe_ \--way too good for the likes of me, sugar.”

“Never, Jay.” Dick says and closes the distance between their lips once again. 

  

_(Something new clicks into place, it eases some of the tension that Dick’s been feeling lately--but still, something like fear stubbornly lingers in his gut. A paranoia of sorts, because Dick Grayson wasn’t allowed to be happy, never for long. But he’s selfish, grossly, terribly, **appallingly** selfish--he wants this thing between them to last forever.)_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jason, dramatically smothering a lit cigarette with his fist while Angst-ing out on the balcony over accidentally choking Dick out during a Pit-flavored night terror: "I'm bad news, Dick. You should just turn me out already."  
> Dick, having absolutely none of this, under-reacting entirely too much to this turn of events: "................ You're so fucking dramatic, Jay. Get off my balcony and put your duffle bag back in the closet--"
> 
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> 
> As always thanks so much for all the sweet reviews and feedback ;v; ! We might be nearing the end here,, maybe at 7 chapters? We'll see.


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